


Breaking Point

by AeriLex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeriLex/pseuds/AeriLex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plotted by/written for Promise777 in response to "Former Things" so can be seen as a sequel or a standalone. Castiel is taken by Crowley for a little vengeance that involves Dean in a profound way. Meanwhile, the boys start to work through some of their issues following the S6 ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Author claims no ownership rights to the characters or situations of Supernatural. 'Cause author does not hate on cute angels.

_“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.”_ \- 1 Peter 4:8

Dean entered the hospital cautiously, as quietly as he would on a hunt. Immediately the thought made him wince, and he glanced upward toward where Castiel rested on the third floor apologetically. Dean really had to stop thinking things about hunting when he was thinking about Cas. He knew Castiel could no longer hear his thoughts, but the former angel seemed to respond to whatever emotions he was feeling.

Especially his reluctance whenever he entered the hospital room.

Dean knew that he’d been all right ignoring all the negative emotions from the last few months when he decided to save Castiel after the angel forced the souls from Purgatory—and his own Grace—from his body. He _knew_ that, but Dean still found it difficult to quell all those feelings of betrayal and distrust so easily whenever he saw Castiel.

The ex-angel wouldn’t say anything, but Dean thought maybe his feelings—as well as Sam’s and Bobby’s hesitance to engage with Castiel at all—were making Cas sick. Or, like, depressed. Whatever it was, it was taking Castiel longer than it should to heal up and he had already baffled the doctors a few times with his susceptibility to common disease around the hospital. Castiel spent the better part of the last week unconscious and his moments of lucidity were laced with sadness and a strange sort of daze in his blue eyes—sometimes Dean wondered what Castiel remembered from his struggle with the souls within him before he decided it was a good idea to rip himself open from sternum to groin and send them back to Purgatory.

Dean hoped that he could at least encourage Castiel back to health before they started worrying about what to do about their frayed, damaged friendship. He wouldn’t bail on Cas just because he was angry. Point was, Castiel was human now. And he didn’t have anyone but Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Whether Sam and Bobby liked it or not.

Dean exited the elevator and cast a habitual, cursory glance about the area. A few nurses passed through the halls on their rounds, and the security guard on the floor leaned casually against the receptionists’ desk talking with the two young women there. Nothing out of the ordinary. He nodded towards Castiel’s usual nurse, a young redhead named Sabrina. She either didn’t notice him or didn’t care to respond, moving strategically on by Castiel’s room.

Dean paused and furrowed his brow. Sabrina never skipped checking in on Cas on his account. Weird. He thought about whether or not his last attempt at flirting with her crossed the line between appropriate and pushy as he entered Castiel’s room.

There was an immediate sense of _wrong_. Dean stared around the room as the feeling washed over him, cataloguing each detail while his thoughts caught up to his instincts. The flowers Sabrina brought in to liven up the place were still on the bedside table, and the blinds were still drawn to let in as much sunlight and view of the sky as possible—Cas didn’t like feeling claustrophobic and had to have a clear picture of the heavens. That stupid dirty trench coat lay haphazardly across the chair where Dean typically sat, the blue tie half-tucked into its pocket. Despite that, none of these details seemed out of place.

The problem with this room? Its patient was missing.

Dean remained frozen, gaping at the scene. The hospital bed was empty, the sheets strewn and tangled. Other than that, there was no sign of struggle. Castiel seemed to have...just _disappeared_ from his bed.

And the stupid trench coat was still here. The one possession Castiel owned that was symbolic of all the feelings of protection and warmth that Dean had come to associate with the otherwise cool, impassive angel was lying in Dean’s chair as though left there to throw up every red flag and blaring alarm in Dean’s frigging mind. He approached the chair, reached to run a hand over the coat. It was softer than he thought it should be, threadbare from countless resurrections by an angel’s Grace. Castiel couldn’t save his clothing when it was riddled with bullet holes and covered in his blood—not anymore. Cas was _human_ now. He got tired and sick and cold. He wouldn’t…if he left, he wouldn’t leave without this frigging coat.

Grasping the article, Dean whirled and immediately found Sabrina filling out a chart outside the next room. “Where did he go?” he demanded, reaching out with his free hand to grab her wrist when she startled. The security guard glanced up, straightened. Dean could care less as he glared at Sabrina, shaking the trench coat in her face. “My brother, where is he?”

Sabrina stared at him blankly. “Everything is just fine,” she said, her tone odd and almost dazed. “I’m going about my business just like he said. No one will get hurt if I just go about my business.”

Dean knew what this was, recognized the odd tone of implanted suggestion. Sabrina would be fine after she slept this off, but something planted this line of thinking in her and something got Cas. Dean released Sabrina’s wrist as the security guard approached. “Problem here?” the guy—Dean ignored his nametag and decided to call him Brutus—asked gruffly.

“Not at all,” Dean responded. “Brina here’s just caught me up on current events. You might want to encourage her to take a break and lie down, she doesn’t seem to be feeling well.”

Dean turned away and tried to breathe past the feeling that a tight band just wrapped around his chest. Cas was missing. _Cas. Was. Missing._ Why the hell hadn’t Dean put up sigils, or devil’s traps, or _something_ in Castiel’s room?

He clutched the trench coat in both hands as he strode out of the hospital and made his way to the Impala. His mind was already putting together a list of suspects even as he started to panic. He slid into the Impala and reached for his phone to call Sam and Bobby even as he realized: Public Enemy Number One? Could only be Crowley.

 

* * *

 

Castiel clenched his jaw to contain the whimper that threatened to spill from his lips. He could not, however, resist the urge to tremble in the miserable cold of the room. He stared up into cold, calculating blue eyes as Crowley lifted his scalpel and traced it over the fragile lines of Castiel’s skin. The demon had been trying for an hour to find a way to dig into Castiel’s chest cavity without killing him, but while Crowley mumbled to himself quietly from time to time he had not stopped once to talk to Castiel or to explain his actions. Castiel thought he should no longer be a concern for Crowley—it was not like he possessed any Grace with which to vanquish Crowley any longer. He suspected that Crowley’s source of motivation was more sinister and had more to do with a thirst for vengeance than anything else. Perhaps, Castiel thought as he lazily studied the dark colors of Crowley’s inner essence (all that is left of his abilities, now), perhaps there was some mild curiosity.

The scalpel descended, and Castiel resolutely did not flinch as it cut through his skin again. Crowley frowned, thoughtful but displeased. “It makes no difference to me if you scream or not, darling,” he lilted. “At the moment, I’m more interested in finding that soul-bond of yours.”

 _Soul-bond?_ Castiel narrowed his eyes up at Crowley, and turned his head slightly. He was strapped to a metal table in a large, abandoned prison somewhere very cold. Castiel wasn’t sure that they were even in Dean and Sam’s country anymore—he just knew that it was cold and that he couldn’t move at all. He knew that he was brought here several hours ago by Crowley, who had found him while he’d been preparing to leave the hospital Dean had taken him to. He knew that Crowley wanted something from him. He knew that Dean would soon find that he was gone.

Castiel _prayed_ that Dean simply assumed that he left of his own accord, and would no longer involve himself in Castiel’s life. He prayed that Dean could return to being happy with his brother and Bobby Singer. He prayed that Dean could forgive him, even as he knew he wasn’t worthy of forgiveness.

It had been Castiel’s intention to leave the hospital and find a new path for the very human life he’d been forced into. He intended to find something to hunt, as Dean would have done, and he intended to stay as far away from the Winchesters as possible. He knew that he couldn’t stand to hurt them any longer, just as he knew that they were hurt every day merely by his presence. Whenever Dean came to speak with him anymore, he hesitated and there was a moment where Castiel could see his distrust and his hurt like a dark shadow over Dean’s pure soul. He hadn’t seen Sam nor Bobby, but even from a distance he could sense their unease and their anger. He had no right to expect anything less from them.

So Castiel didn’t struggle against Crowley. He thought that maybe this was fine, that maybe his Father allowed Crowley to take him in order to end his miserable existence. Castiel prayed _so fervently_ that his Father protected Dean and Sam and Bobby, and that he kept them far from this place.

Castiel’s thoughts were straying away from him again. They developed the tendency to do that as he tried to distract himself from the worst of the pain Crowley inflicted. He refocused on Crowley, who was smirking now as he peeled away the layers of Castiel’s human flesh.

“Found it,” Crowley crowed in merry singsong tones. “Oh, Castiel, the things I’ve got planned for you.” He leered at Castiel, smile full of wickedness and spite. “Shouldn’t have done what you did, partner. We could have had a beautiful thing, you and I. But, I can’t very well leave you like this now can I? That certainly wouldn’t be fitting, not after what you nearly did to me. Thought you were very clever with that little switcheroo, didn’t you, mate?”

Castiel choked on the blood and bile that intermingled in his throat, but gave Crowley a small, bloodstained smile. “Outwitted the King of Hell, didn’t I?” It was such a _Dean_ comment to make that Castiel felt a brief flash of pride.

It was quelled almost instantly by the pain that flared in his gut as Crowley plunged his instrument blade-first into the soft flesh at his belly. Castiel gasped and closed his eyes tight, but continued to refuse Crowley the pleasure of any further sound. He would not voice his pain for this demon or any other. He may no longer be the angel he was, but he still had the ability to _act_ like he was a creature of glory and might.

“Cheeky fellow,” Crowley murmured and leaned close to Castiel, lips brushing his ear. “Let’s see how long you act that way once you realize what I’ve done to your precious pet.”

Crowley could only mean one person. Castiel opened his eyes, narrowed to dangerous slits, and cast a menacing look upon Crowley. “You will not harm Dean Winchester.”

Crowley scoffed haughtily as he straightened. “And who is there to stop me, Castiel? You’ve clipped your own wings.”

Something cold squirmed through Castiel’s middle and clutched at his heart until it skipped several beats. He recognized the sensation as _terror_.

Crowley noticed the shift in Castiel’s eyes and smiled. “Oh, not to worry, precious. I intend to bring your boy here so you two can hold hands and go to Hell together like a good pair of BFFs. Just you wait—you’re gonna _love_ this.”

He spread through the flesh that he spent time carving out, and reached deep into Castiel’s chest. The place within him where his Grace once sat and now his human heart beat around his soul _screamed_ out its agony as Crowley connected with the essence of Castiel’s whole being, and _tugged_ on it experimentally.

Something shifted, and stretched within Castiel. He felt it pulling on a link he had thought to be withered and barren, and he cried out weakly in despair. The demon above him laughed as he manipulated Castiel’s soul, forcing it to latch onto that link within itself and bring it _sparkling_ back to fullness and vitality. The link caught and shimmered inside Castiel, and suddenly he felt the vague sensation of a shared emotion—felt the slightest sense of worry and fear and concentration as _someone_ , somewhere sought him out.

“What…what have you done?” Castiel gasped out as Crowley, task accomplished, eased his hand from Castiel’s chest.

“Your soul was already calling to Dean’s through your funny little _bond_ ,” Crowley explained. “I just let it connect as it wanted to do. Consider this a parting gift—at least you won’t break and die alone.” Castiel flinched at last as Crowley leaned over him and gave him the evilest grin Castiel had seen since Alistair smirked down at him. “Now _Winchester_ is coming along for the ride.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Dean finished explaining why he was _absolutely_ positive that someone had taken Cas, Sam’s face was a little less pinched and Bobby looked agitated but, well...Bobby _always_ looked like that. They at least seemed onboard with Operation Save-the-Ex-Angel. Point being, while still a little reluctant to hop onto Dean’s forgiveness bandwagon, both Bobby and Sam were up for a little hunt-and-rescue.

They started by trying to recreate the tracking spell Castiel used and taught them to find angels, but turned out that spell only worked if the angel was still rocking some pretty heavy mojo. Unfortunately Castiel only had enough angel-mojo to catch tidbits of thoughts and feelings. So while there were a few variations of the spell, they required some sort of connection to the angel, and Plan A dead-ended.

Dean tamped down the part of him that had his stomach squirming uneasily as the hours passed. All Sam and Bobby could find in all of the massive tomes Bobby collected were ways to ward against different kinds of creatures and one weird spell to track down a Rakshasa; though why _anyone_ would want to do _that_ Dean had no frigging clue.

He started to get antsy beyond the cure of alcohol when darkness fell and they were no closer to finding a way to Cas. “This is freaking ridiculous. We _know_ Crowley has him, why can’t we just find _him_?”

Sam heaved a heavy sigh, apparently very put-upon even though this was _only_ the first time Dean said anything directly _to_ them. “Dean...”

He didn’t get the chance to say anything further than that, because he was suddenly pushing up to his feet and overturning a pile of books from Bobby’s couch as Dean crumbled to the floor, pressing the palm of his hand tight to his chest as a bolt of pure lightning ripped through his chest.

“Dean!”

There were two sets of hands pulling at him, tugging his clawing fingers out of the way and checking his vitals while he rode out the heatwave of white-hot agony that pierced through him and pulse-pulse- _pulsed_. It lasted for ages, lasted for eons and Dean couldn’t think or feel or even _breathe_ and then—

And then it stopped, so suddenly Dean felt numb with the sudden absence of sensation. He froze for a moment and his tensing alerted Sam and Bobby to the passing of the episode or whatever-the-hell it had been. After Dean choked through three full breaths in succession, Bobby asked, “You aimin’ to put me in my grave early, idgit?”

“What was that?” Dean rasped, ignoring Bobby and shoving Sam’s hands away as his brother tried to help prop him upright. “Leave me alone, Sam.”

“Dean, you just went down clutching your chest and you have a history of heart trouble,” Sam snapped.

“Your _face_ has a history of heart trouble.” Sam fixed him with a dry look. “Shut up. I’m fine.” Dean shrugged both of their hands away as he struggled to his feet on his own. “Okay, that was frigging weird.” He had a bad feeling. An astronomically bad feeling. He tried not to put too much thought into it though, because he suddenly had an idea. “ _Oh_ , dude!” He shrugged out of his flannel shirt and pulled up the sleeve of the black tee he was wearing underneath, revealing the handprint left by Castiel. “Can we try the tracking spell with this?”

Sam and Bobby both stared at him incredulously. It was obvious neither was keen on ignoring the apparent issue with Dean's heart. Dean just had, but he glared right back in stubborn silence. Eventually, Sam sighed. “Okay, Dean. We can try it your way. But you’re seeing a doctor first.”

“Sure, Sammy.” Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam didn’t protest like Dean expected him to. Apparently his brother knew he was feeling a little contrary. They got back into it, and this time Dean felt a tiny bit more hopeful. They just _had_ to find Cas.

He wouldn’t accept any other option.

 

* * *

 

Crowley was meticulous. Not to mention merciless. It seemed he really _was_ endlessly curious about how Castiel ticked. He spoke a little about the soul-bond he had mentioned earlier but he didn’t mention how he’d known to use it to manipulate Castiel through his relationship with Dean. There was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that the bond between what was once his Grace and Dean’s soul was intact once again to its fullest capacity. Over the last twelve sessions under Crowley’s knife, Castiel felt traces and hints of anguish and desperation that were not his own. Castiel despaired quietly over this, but it became obvious that Crowley was amused and intrigued.

“Strange,” Crowley murmured. “Strange how much you blocked from him, before.”

 _He is like a brother to me,_ Castiel thought. _He is my charge. He has always been my charge._ Castiel knew that Dean had blocked things from him, as well. A lot like Sam, Dean came with a firm, resolute wall around his emotions and it was a good defense against even a soul-deep bond.

He said none of this, however. The demon would not be interested, and even worse Crowley would only use the information against Dean somehow. Castiel could withstand the experimenting Crowley seemed fixated upon administering to the former-angel’s broken body. Dean...Dean already survived Hell. The hunter should never have to experience anything like that again.

 

Castiel wished he still had the might to fill that wish with wrathful conviction, but he was less than nothing—not even human with the traces of Grace that still echoed in his weaker body.

And then Crowley started to talk. This was different from the observational commentary he made up until now, and Castiel flinched at the too-hot sensation of Crowley’s breath against his ear as the demon chuckled, “Bet you wish you hadn’t let your little Righteous Man down _now_ , Cas. No one will be able to save you from what _I’m_ about to do.”

The guilt was the most biting, but something about Crowley’s last words caught Castiel’s attention, and he barely had time to glance up at the knife digging around his chest again before a very dim glow spilled from the shallow cut that Crowley carved. And while each cut had sealed itself slowly up to this point, Castiel knew that these cuts were aimed precisely to bleed him of the shreds of Grace his body had been clinging to. Nothing Crowley did up to this point could have caused more damage.

And certainly, nothing Crowley did before caused so much white-hot _agony_.

A moan died in Castiel’s throat, cut off by the sharp sting of his lip between his teeth. He tasted copper and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes at the soul-deep burn that drew through him, his body rejecting this new loss just as it had when he had ripped out the larger portion of his Grace. Castiel couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t look away from that pale blue-white glow—so weak a firefly could outshine it. This was the last of his true essence, the last of his core being. He was losing the last of himself, and it called forth the taste of blood and bile in his mouth as his eyes burned and his soul throbbed with sorrow. Not quite human, no longer angel. Castiel was lost, lost, _lost_ and he had no home, no family and he was losing all that he had left of what he _had been_ and everything hurt _so much, Father please make it go away..._

Castiel bit back any sound and took all the tortures dealt to him stoically as possible, weeping his grief while Crowley celebrated it with chortling laughter.

 

* * *

 

Dean tried to ignore the aches as they gradually grew, sharp and stinging like his skin had been torn. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going on but he knew that his skin, save for the old battle scars from years upon years of hunting, was flawless and he hadn’t been on the receiving end of any torture lately (and yes, he understood that the echoes he felt were those of a knife pressed carefully and surgically to the skin of a victim). Other than the odd little jolts, however, the only discomfort that Dean could complain of was the lingering soreness in his chest and the tugging going on around his arm courtesy of one annoying little brother and one equally-annoying old drunk.

“Dean seriously. Can’t you _sit still_ for just five seconds?” Sam demanded sharply, glaring at Dean who fidgeted again as he tried to paint the weird soupy concoction he and Bobby put together from one of the ancient texts in Bobby’s vast, epic collection.

Dean quirked a smirk at Sam, held back the taunting response as Bobby cuffed the back of his head and gruffly added, “Listen to yer brother, idgit.” The offending hand then fell heavily on Dean’s shoulder, as though to anchor him still. Dean sighed, but did as he was told for mainly two reasons: one, Bobby was a scary mofo when he wanted to be. Two, they’d already wasted over three hours just taking Dean to the nearest clinic (way into town, far too many people for Dean’s liking) to get him checked out. Considering the situation, they had been unable to say much more than _history of heart problems_ and _had some palpatations_.

Palpatations. _Sure_.

Whatever, so long as the doctor cleared Dean under the statement that _everything looks fine, nothing out of the ordinary though maybe you should watch that weight a little, chief_. Dean definitely earned a pat on the back for not punching the smarmy guy for that comment alone, let alone for wasting precious time he could have spent searching for Cas.

Sam finished wiping the sticky gray goo over the outline of Cas’ handprint, and stepped back to survey his work. “All right,” he said with an approving nod, “I think we’re ready for the incantation.” He glanced aside to Bobby, not for permission but for affirmation. Bobby provided it with a grunt, and turned to the work table they’d been using for the last hour to snatch the ancient tome that frankly Dean thought he might have stolen from the Vatican or something. The book was faded leathery brown, its cover frayed and curling at the edges, pages dusted in a fine grainy film. When Bobby flipped the book open, dust burst up from it in a cloud. Bobby propped the book on one hand and flapped his other as he choked and coughed.

“Blasted, nutty Sumerian folk...” Bobby grumbled under his breath once before his fingertips fell to the page beneath him and his sharp eyes squinted as they roamed over the text. Bobby was _terrible_ at the accent and the pronunciation of the spell, but that didn’t much matter. The language sounded like crinkling Papyrus and embers crackling under a curl of smoke. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the strange sensation of tugging at the skin on Dean’s shoulder became mildly uncomfortable even as his instincts pulled on his entire being. His thoughts seemed to be directed to the north, and he half-turned in that direction just as the echo of _presence_ filled the room with Bobby’s final word. The strange aura grew, seemingly centered around the handprint scarred into Dean’s shoulder, and he stood upright as his entire focus was split between two points: the tugging at his shoulder and the odd feeling that he had left something up north. _North. Go north_.

Dean didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Sam piped up beside him, “North? Cas is up north?”

“I...I think so,” Dean replied, feeling strange. “Yeah. North.”

“Huh. Must be working, then,” Sam said thoughtfully, a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Dean nodded, and grinned briefly as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. His grin quickly twisted into a grimace when he turned a look upon the sticky substance that still clung to the handprint, and while Bobby and Sam discussed what supplies they might need he went to find something to clean his shoulder off with.

It wasn’t until he was scrubbing the stuff off with Sam’s girly freaking loofah thing that Dean felt like his _guts_ were being hooked out through his _face_. He stumbled, caught himself on the edge of the bathroom sink and breathed through the throbbing, dull ache as it swelled to near-agony on a sudden uprise. He gasped, wondered _what is going on here?_ and kept breathing while the pain slowly began to recede piece by piece.

The handprint throbbed along with each thrumming beat of pain.

And suddenly, _so_ very suddenly, Dean _got it_. With a sharp curse tearing past his lips, he turned and ran down to the Impala and Bobby’s old truck where his brother and the elder hunter were loading up. “We have to hurry,” Dean told them breathlessly when they both shot him equally concerned, surprised looks at the sight of his flushed face and damp brow. “I think Cas is hurt.” Of course Dean got the terrible feeling; that was an understatement.

 

* * *

 

It went on and on and on. Crowley dragged it out as long as he could, waiting until even the Grace-bleeding wounds started to close before he dug the knife into Castiel’s flesh again and again. The pain certainly took its toll, but still Castiel managed to hold off, putting all of his will power into wishing that he could mute this at all for Dean’s sake. He would not wish his torment on the hunter if he could control it at all. Once not so very long ago, he _had_ the ability to cut off their connection at his will and keep Dean safe. Of course, if he still were what he once was he would not be in this situation _now_.

When he could no longer think to distract himself, when thought became mindless drivel and worldess images _(Balthazar, Anael, Uriel and he flying under Gabriel’s wings—Dean clapping him on the shoulder and laughing while Castiel leaned forward to catch his friend’s joyous expression—Sam offering a friendly smile while passing a book he thought Cas would enjoy—Balthazar grinning at him and summoning appletinis for the two of them to try—Anael singing with the Host, her hair and wings alit like fire—Dean smirking at him around the mouth of a beer, teasing him—Dean visiting in the hospital despite his reluctance)_ Crowley leaned back, his face the image of frustration and consternation.

“Why isn’t this _working_?” Crowley murmured. “Surely Dean should be in _agony_ right alongside you.”

Castiel made no response, wasn’t sure he could if he wanted to. He _did_ however feel a sense of overwhelming relief when he heard confirmation that Dean wasn’t experiencing _everything_ Castiel suffered. The relief did nothing to buffer the next bout of pain as Crowley took his frustration out by slamming a fist into Castiel’s soft flesh. Castiel hissed through his teeth and flinched slightly, and Crowley took a moment to look proud of the pain he inflicted externally. It was obvious that he was seeking more, trying to chase down what small sounds of suffering he could from Castiel in the neatest ways possible (after all, Crowley _hated_ to make a mess). Castiel was unsurprised when Crowley hit him again, this time using the flat end of one of his heavier instruments as though to keep his gloved hands away from Castiel’s ecclesiastic skin.

“Now _that’s_ more like it,” Crowley smirked, and proceeded to entertain himself through blunt force trauma for the next several minutes. He inflicted the wounds upon Castiel’s flesh, but Castiel was more concerned by the flicker of anxiety and cold fear that he was now feeling—they were not his own.

 _Dean,_ Castiel thought, desperately, _Dean, whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking, please. Just leave it. It will pass for you, it will all be over soon. Just...leave it._

He prayed to the Father for Dean to hear his message, knew that Dean would be angry at him for _giving up_ but couldn’t help his protective instincts. Dean would survive this with minimal pain. Knowing that, Castiel could succumb to whatever Crowley had in mind. He would accept death with peace.

 

* * *

 

Dean felt _cold_. They’d been driving for hours, and near the border of Canada got pulled by the strange tugging on Dean’s scar toward the east. Dean thought they may be in Minnesota, but he’d been distracted trying to sense anything through the weird Cas-vibes he was getting to really pay attention. Dean felt miserable even after Sam asked if he was trying to roast them to death when he twisted the heater onto full blast, and he realized that this probably wasn’t _him_. The realization had him interrupting Sam’s petulant sniping with a blurted, “Cas is cold.”

“What?” Sam asked, concern stealing over his features.

“Cas. I think he’s cold,” Dean said again, exchanging a look with Sam.

There was a pause during which Sam’s face screwed up with sympathy and concern. The puppy eyes were going full blast when he finally said, “We’re gonna find him, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean replied brusquely, fixing his eyes to the road ahead to avoid whatever emotional turmoil his brother might be going through now. Sam already had an emotional epiphany earlier, saying something about _being pissed that I can’t even be pissed anymore_ and _I really need to talk with Cas when we get him home._

Of course, there was no guarantee that Castiel would feel at home with the Winchesters and Bobby. Outside the Impala, Bobby’s house was the closest they had to a true home. Dean flinched as he remembered that the last real interaction he and Castiel had shared there was the night Bobby painted the anti-angel sigils on his walls and windows to keep the angel out. Despite the fact that Castiel had seen the place as a form of sanctuary after he’d been wounded by Rachel, it wasn’t only the sigils that kept the atmosphere feeling unlike that of a home.

Dean thought about Castiel, trapped in the ring of fire, saying, "It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?" He pictured the defeated expression on the angel's face when he spoke and the weary set of his shoulders that spoke of his trials in the war.

He _had_ been there, just like he told Cas then. But maybe he should have asked more questions. He still didn’t understand exactly what Castiel had been through, and that was partially his fault and partially Cas’. They had both been stubborn, and while Dean hadn't really listened Castiel hadn't really volunteered much.

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts as he focused again on the feeling of cold spreading through him, and the tugging sensation at his arm. He pressed down on the accelerator and hoped Bobby could keep up in his truck behind them.

Several hours and _definitely_ out of Minnesota and into Wisconsin, the Impala nearly swerved off the road—saved only by Sam and his amazing reflexes that Dean was _totally_ going to tease him for when he felt less grateful—as pain came _crashing_ through Dean’s body. He recognized this sort of pain, knew exactly what it meant. This was the sort of tearing, ripping, _mangling_ pain that he felt when the hellhounds had rended his body to shreds and torn his screaming soul away from it and down into the depths of Hell. It was the same pain he felt every day on the rack as demons shredded and maimed and tore him to pieces.

It was the pain of being taken apart at one’s very core, having one’s essence shredded.

Dean became aware of Sam calling his name, saw that they were now safely on the shoulder of the highway, felt Sam’s huge hands pawing at his shoulders and shaking him. Then Bobby ripped open the driver’s door and demanded to know what just happened. Dean held up a hand to signal to them that he needed a minute, and breathed through the pain as it became gradually numb within his chest. When he could, he looked up to glance at his brother and Bobby respectively.

“We _really_ have to hurry. He isn’t going to make it much longer.”

That stopped them from further comment or query, and Bobby gave a jerky, grim nod before he rose and dusted off his knees. “Sam drives,” he declared, and glared at Dean when the elder Winchester made to argue. “ _Sam drives_ ,” Bobby repeated, his tone brooking no argument. Dean sighed under that withering glare, and nodded. He and Sam switched places, and with a final, worried glance in his direction Sam pulled back onto the highway. Bobby was close behind in his truck. Dean did something he only ever had to do once. Silently, just thinking it. Calling it _wishful thinking_ rather than what it really was.

 _Please let Cas keep breathing until we get there. Please let us reach him. Please._

 

* * *

 

Castiel could no longer think in clear syllables. He let go of his prayers some time ago, when the words began to jumble together and stopped making any sense. God wouldn’t answer if not even Castiel could understand what he was asking for. The pain became a distant thing, and the instinctive base of Castiel knew that that was more the human condition known as _shock_ than being desensitized to it. Crowley had a little v indenting his brow, and he kept mumbling invectives at Castiel. The demon stopped healing the cuts and spilled nearly all of the light that Castiel had left in him, leaving the former angel weak and shivering. The room was getting very cold. Castiel could see his breath as vapor in the air now.

Castiel felt something push at him from deep within. Something murmured encouragement, _hold on Cas, you’re gonna be fine,_ but Castiel let his breathing grow shallow and stutter. He still had made no sound, first out of power of will and now out of powerlessness of voice. The fact that he had yet to murmur or sob seemed to make the indentation of Crowley’s brow grow more defined. The vitriol spilled from the demon’s lips like acid and increased in volume.

When his body became so tired Castiel started to close his eyes, Crowley stopped. Castiel’s eyes widened and he tried to focus, but the King of Hell was simply a splotch of blurred colors in his vision.

“This is getting tiresome,” Crowley growled. “It’s no fun if you don’t _feel_ it enough to _respond_. Less fun that _he_ can’t seem to feel it.” The demon was practically _pouting_. Castiel’s mouth twitched in a failed smirk. Crowley scowled. “You aren’t getting out of here alive, anyhow. Perhaps I can catch up after Winchester finds you.” The idea seemed to please him, because his frustrated expression split into a delighted grin. “That sounds like a lot more fun than this is anymore.” With a crueler smile, he glanced at the knife he used on Castiel. In one flourishing motion, Crowley drove it deep in between the former angel’s ribs. Castiel managed a weak gasp and a twitch. The demon twisted the knife as he pulled it out with a sickening slurp. Then Crowley patted him on the chest pleasantly, as though greeting an old friend, and leaned over Castiel to button up his shirt. He winked, “Need you looking tip-top for the Winchesters, eh? It was a pleasure, Cas, really. You weren’t one of my favorite subjects, but you certainly held it together long enough for us to have a bit of fun. Toodles!”

Crowley vanished.

Castiel couldn’t help but remind himself that he always anticipated the demon would double-cross him in some form or another. He took a moment to regret his decisions once again as the room grew very quiet around him. His harsh breathing was the only sound in the large room, yet somehow it was comforting to him for a reason he couldn't quite explain. He felt a bone-deep chill shuddering through him, and he realized he felt peculiarly heavy. His eyes felt as though they were drifting closed on their own and he recognized the strange sensation as sleepiness. He shivered, his body fighting the cold as he fought the draw of sleep valiantly for a few moments.

His shivers started to even out, and he thought he could maybe close his eyes. _Just for a moment_. His eyes fell closed, and didn’t reopen.

 

* * *

 

It had been a few hours, and all Dean could feel was a low, terrible ache. For some reason, it worried him. The hunter shared this information with Sam, who nodded silently but chewed on the corners of his mouth like he did when he was thinking about something. Dean left him alone after that, and worried silently on his own. He couldn’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently if he’d just listened to Cas from the beginning. Distantly, he recalled a similar incident that had happened only recently.

 _"Dean._ Dean _," the angel called reproachfully. Dean turned to face the half-disbelieving, half-chiding look on Castiel’s face almost impatiently. "_ Millions _of lives are at stake here, not just two. Stay focused."_

 _Dean gave him a look. "Are you kidding?"_

 _"There’s a greater purpose here—" Castiel started._

 _Dean talked over him, "Y’know what, I-I-I’m getting a little sick and tired of the greater purposes." He gave Castiel a pointed look. "Okay? I think what I’d like to do right now is save a couple of kids. If you don’t mind." His words dripped with sarcasm as he and Castiel exchanged a look—Dean feeling agitated, Castiel appearing incredulous. Ignoring the emotions flickering over his friend’s expression, Dean said with a tone of finality, "We’ll catch up."_

 _Dean also ignored the utterly disappointed look on Castiel’s face as he turned and joined Sam to escort the boys to safety._

Dean thought about the things that hadn’t been spoken during that exchange, and wondered briefly if he would have found them if he had been looking. He thought about the look of betrayal in Castiel’s face when he left with Sam, and wondered now if he should have paid more attention to that. He recalled the outright frustration the angel had displayed when they had realized that Ryan had been part of Eve’s plan. Because Dean hadn't listened to Castiel, a monster had been unleashed.

Dean shook himself from his thoughts when they broke through Wisconsin to the northern half of Michigan, skirting the borders of Lake Superior as the pull in Dean’s scar commanded until suddenly the _tug_ became a _throb_ and Dean called to Sam to pull over, stop, they were _really close_ and he felt it like a sobbing thing curling around his arm and chest and tightening. Sam pulled off to the side of the road, and they climbed out just as Bobby veered in behind them.

“I take it the idgit found Feathers?” Bobby asked Sam as Dean studied the area around them. There was an expanse of trees to the right, encircling what looked like an old building in the near distance. Something drew on Dean, whispered _there_ , and he pulled his duffel out of the back of the Impala and marched through the woods. Fumblingly, Sam and Bobby cursed him and hurried to trail him. Dean clutched his shotgun close, eyes scanning the shadows beneath the trees around them closely. It was nighttime under a new moon, so everything was dark and eerie but Dean didn’t sense any danger around him and _that_ put him on edge. It seemed like something _wanted_ them to get to that building. The scar on Dean’s arm pulsed and warmed with every step nearer the building, but strangely his chest tightened again.

When Dean choked the first time while trying to take a deep breath, he realized what that feeling meant.

“Guys. I think...” he started, and then his lungs _seized_ like he’d been plunged underwater and hadn’t been able to take in a breath for _too long_ , body forced into fight-or-flight and choosing to struggle against the sensation of drowning when the air around him was _right there_. He gasped, and coughed violently, nearly falling to his knees. Sam caught Dean and scooped him up, held him against his chest while Bobby leaned in to thump him hard on the back and eased him through the episode. Tears leaked from Dean’s eyes and his face felt hot when he could finally breathe again. He looked up, winded and panicked, and met Sam’s gaze. “He stopped breathing.”

“Crap.” Sam tugged Dean to his feet and pulled one of his brother’s arms around the expanse of his shoulders so he could help Dean stumble through the woods. Behind them, Bobby carried Dean’s abandoned gun and covered each step they took, eyes narrowed on the defensive. At a half-jog, Sam and Dean broke out of the woods and into the clearing where a massive building resembling a prison stood tucked behind a crumbling barbed wire fence. Wrapped around the fence like a box was a shimmering, translucent indigo barrier.

“Anyone care to tell me the hell _that_ is?” Bobby asked when he joined them a moment later, gesturing with the shotgun at the strange barrier.

“Um.” Dean looked to his brother, whose eyes were wide and wondering. “Sammy?”

“I think I’ve seen something like this. Just once, though,” Sam marveled. “It looks like a barrier to the Between.” Dean raised an eyebrow. When it became obvious that neither he nor Bobby understoodd whatever Sam just said, Sam sighed, “A barrier to the space between Earth and Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. It supposedly acts like a prison and holds the same time-altering powers as any of the three superhuman worlds.” Dean suddenly didn’t really care about what the barrier was so long as he could break _through_ it. Cas was in there, he knew. He glanced sidelong at Sam, who nodded again. “It should just be a binding barrier. We can probably walk right in.”

Dean didn’t think about why Crowley would want Cas in a place overlapping with the Between or whatever. If he thought of that, he’d go right back into thoughts about his actions in Hell and the tactics behind creating a space where he could manipulate time to slow or speed as he desires. He shrugged out of Sam’s grip, feeling better now that he had the opportunity to breathe freely for awhile. When he approached the barrier, it shimmered then rippled. He reached out a hand and the ripples progressed into lapping waves. Dean’s hand brushed against the quintessence of the barrier, and the waves finally lifted as the barrier split open to accomodate his hand. Dean spared a glance at Sam, smirked, and stepped through the barrier.

It was _cold_ on the other side of the barrier, and Dean trembled as an arctic wind swept through. Many people considered Hell hot, a place of holy fire and brimstone. Dean knew very well that in fact, sometimes Hell was freezing, tinged blue and purple with the stain of blood. The cold that swept through him now cut him straight to the bone and reminded him sharply of those parts of Hell where he sometimes walked with Alistair in search of newly-arrived souls. He urged Sam and Bobby to hurry so that they could tackle their next goal and navigate the abandoned prison in search of Castiel. Dean didn’t like that his chest was still sore but he felt no pressure to breathe. It felt far too still.

Dean shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. _Hold on, Cas._

 

* * *

 

Getting past the barbed wire fence was only a matter of letting Bobby go at it with his wire-cutters. Finding a way into the abandoned prison took only a few more minutes, and then Dean followed the throbbing in his shoulder which didn’t seem to dissipate despite the fact that his sense of Castiel seemed to be numbing (which frankly scared the ever-loving crap out of Dean). Dean led Sam and Bobby through the maze of halls, jaw tight and teeth grinding until they reached what looked like the medical wing of the prison.

Dean suddenly felt a sense of panic that quickened his heartbeat and pounded a rhythm in his ears. He checked each of the exam rooms in the infirmary, and when he came to the last one something felt like it burst in his chest and he knew _this was where Cas was_. He burst into the room and his footsteps stuttered to a stop when he saw Castiel lying prone atop a surgical table before him.

There was blood _everywhere_ —pooling all over that table, dripping to the floor below. Dean heard Bobby and Sam give quiet murmurs of disbelief as they entered the room after him.

Dean, Sam, and Bobby all stared at the former-angel hopelessly for a moment. He glanced at the knife wound in Cas’ ribs then at the stillness of Cas’ form, and flattened his lips. That strange pressure was still tugging at his lungs and he leaned down at once, laying his ear near Cas’ blue-tinged lips.

 _Oh, God._ “He isn't breathing,” Dean gasped as he straightened, and reaching for his friend's wrist added, “No pulse.”

The words seemed to produce a shockwave effect on Sam and Bobby, who immediately moved into action. Sam exchanged a short glance with Dean, who cringed at the silent message he read there: CPR. His brother was already ripping open the white button-down to get clear access for compressions. Both Dean and Sam stared when they caught sight of the extent of the damage to Castiel's chest. There were raised welts swollen with bruising around shallow, surgical incisions that Dean recognized and he felt bile rising in his throat at the sight. _Damn you, Crowley..._ He knew that the demon was out there, but when Dean found him he was going to murder him. He hadn’t seen work like this since his last victim in Hell...

“The hell did he _do_ to him?” Dean asked.

Sam shot him a look. “Dean, we don’t have time.”

Dean nodded sharply, angling Castiel’s head to open his airway. He glanced up at Sam, who traced his hands nervously over Castiel’s chest until he found the area to properly begin compressions. Sam flattened the heel of his palm against Castiel’s sternum and laced his fingers together, pressing firmly against Castiel’s chest to begin. Dean then nodded at Bobby who was shaking loose the blanket they brought with them to spread over Castiel’s legs and picking up his wrist to keep track of the pulse that just wasn’t there. Dean kept his eyes on Sam through the count: “One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand. Three, one-thousand. Four...” Castiel’s head jerked slightly, his body shaking each time Sam pushed sharply against his chest. Sam counted his way through 30 compressions then gave Dean a nod and said, “Breathe.”

Dean hesitated only briefly. He had to do this before for Sam after a near-drowning accident a few years back, but this left him feeling very uneasy because this was _Cas_ —his _friend_. He shoved his discomfort aside after a moment and pinching Cas' nose, awkwardly pressed his mouth to Castiel’s cold lips. Castiel’s chest contracted for the first breath, then the second, but didn’t rise on its own. Dean glanced questioningly at Bobby, but with a shake of the elder hunter’s head Sam moved back into the compressions.

“One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand. Three—” Sam hesitated, shifted his grip and swallowed. “I think...I think a rib just popped,” he admitted reluctantly with a glance upward to Dean. Dean shrugged helplessly, _nothing we can do for that now,_ and urged him on. Sam took a deep breath. “Th-three, one-thousand. Four, one-thousand. Five, one-thousand...”

They repeated the process, Dean’s heart hammering against his ribs as he felt the slight tug of what should have been breath. He inhaled deeply and forced himself calm as he breathed for Castiel again. Still nothing.

 _C’mon Cas. You gotta breathe._

“Nine, one-thousand. Ten, one-thousand. Eleven, one-thousand...” Sam continued with the compressions, his timbre low and harsh against Dean’s thoughts.

“ _Dammit_ , Cas, _breathe_!” Dean snarled, and the table Cas lay on quivered as Dean’s clenched fist collided with it to emphasize his command. Sam reached his count of 30 and Dean swooped in and pressed his mouth against Castiel’s. to breathe for him again. Dean felt the pit in his stomach roil and he tasted bile at the back of his throat, but he nodded desperately at Sam to continue.

They repeated the process again and again until finally Sam stumbled, glanced up at Dean with something apologetic and sad in his puppy dog expression. “Dean...”

“No, Sam,” Dean said, glaring at his brother.

“Dean, boy, this ain't workin’.” Bobby reached to grasp Dean by the shoulder, but the hunter shrugged him off.

“I said no.” He stared down at Castiel, then shot a glare at Sam. “Again, Sam.”

“Dean—”

“Again, Sam!” Dean interrupted, his glare sharpening. Sam exchanged a glance with Bobby, and nodded at him before returning his hands to Castiel’s chest. They repeated the compressions and the breathing four more times. Dean felt pain penetrating across his chest like the soreness of a new bruise during each compression. He lifted a hand briefly, pressing the heel of his palm against his sternum. _Deal with it, Winchester._ Sam finished another set of compressions and Dean breathed for Castiel again. Bobby shook his head miserably when Dean shot him a questioning look.

Dean angled his glare to Castiel’s face. This wasn't happening. The stupid, stubborn, infuriating ex-angel was not giving up on them. He didn’t get to give up. “Not yet, Cas,” Dean growled lowly, and bent to take over the compressions himself when Sam hesitated again. “C’mon, Cas!”

Dean’s words echoed in the room around them. Castiel didn’t respond.


	2. Chapter 2

"One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand. Three, one-thousand. Four..." Dean counted out thirty compressions and checked Castiel for a pulse. When he found none, he murmured, “This isn’t working...we need to kick-start his heart somehow.”

“Dean, we don’t have anything like that,” Sam retorted with a sharp look. Dean looked up to snap something back in response, but paused at the thoughtful look that stole over his brother’s face. “You can convert a taser, right?” Sam asked suddenly.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then smiled slightly. “You'd better bet I can.” He and his brother exchanged a long glance, and with a nod Dean said simply, "Hurry."

Dean continued with compressions while Sam left to gather what they needed. Three sets of compressions later he heard the crinkle of fabric, and glanced up to see Sam drop the duffel bag they brought along and sort through its contents until he extracted one of the tasers they hadn't used since Dean's little mishap during the Rawhead hunt.

“I'll take over here,” Sam said, trading places as he shoved Dean toward the taser to get to work.

Dean checked his watch. It had been over seven minutes since they first checked Castiel's breathing. He gritted his teeth and reached for the taser. It didn't take much—not as much as the walkman-to-EMF transition—just a tweak of the output and the shedding of the casing around the wires so he had something to touch to Castiel's skin to emit the charge. It took a grand total of 107 seconds, and then another 22 for Dean to shuffle through the med kit and pull free a strip of medical tape. He swept Sam's hands away and readied the makeshift defibrillator, taping the exposed metal wires to the area over Castiel's heart.

“Okay. We're starting low,” Dean said as he twisted the dial on the machine to the appropriate wattage. “Stand clear.” Bobby and Sam both separated themselves from Castiel, and Dean winced as he flipped the switch.

Fire erupted in the core of his chest, licking out from his heart in a burst of heat and pain. Dean clamped down hard on his lower lip to keep from releasing the string of curses that danced over his tongue, but he couldn't keep from flinching and Sam saw. Dean snapped the machine off, and nearly doubled over when he leaned forward to check Castiel's vitals. Nothing.

Dean shoved the machine at Sam, who frowned at him. “Can't do that and feel this too,” he explained breathlessly, and Sam's frown twisted with severe displeasure. “Don't even, Sam. Just do this.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, then glared at the dark look that stole over Dean's expression. “Fine,” he grumbled and glanced to Bobby. “Upping the voltage, and...clear.”

This time, the burst of electricity that echoed through to Dean sent Castiel's body arching upward, and Dean could barely restrain himself from pushing the ex-angel flat again. Fortunately, the explosion in his chest kept him from actually being able to act on that urge and he gritted his teeth as the feeling of lightning buzzed through him in painful waves.

Dean's hand curled around his coat over his heart, and Sam gave him another look. This time, the look was coupled with Bobby's glare and Dean fixed them with his very best _I'm fine, just do as I say_ gaze. He wouldn't give up on Cas. He wouldn't give up on his best friend. He had to kick Cas in the teeth for a few things, yeah, but then he had to teach him some human things like good decision-making. None of that got to happen if Cas kicked it here. “Keep going, Sam,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Dean, this isn't working and you're obviously still in pain...” Sam argued feebly.

Before Dean could cut him off, Bobby spoke up, “He wouldn't want you to kill yourself trying to save his life, son. Let it go. He's gone.”

And just like that the frenzy left Bobby and Sam, and took residence in the wild slamming of Dean's heart as he realized that they were giving up. “No,” Dean growled, and reached to rip the tape and wire from Castiel's chest. “No, you stupid sonuvabitch! You are not allowed to do this!” He bunched up his hands into fists and slammed them down into Castiel's chest. The former-angel's body jerked, and stilled. “Damn it, Cas! You are _not_ giving up! You hear?!” With each sharp growl, Dean swung a fist down into Castiel's chest again. The resounding thud and ache in his own chest were almost satisfying in their intensity. At least he still had this. At least he still felt Cas, somehow.

Dean hit Castiel one last time in the chest then meant to throw a punch to his face just for pure gratification—he couldn’t believe Cas had the nerve to die when Dean tried so hard to get to him so he could force the idiot to understand that he wasn't going to abandon him. Sam caught him by the fists, chastising, “Dean! That’s enough!”

Dean shook him off with a new intention now. He folded his hands together and pressed _hard_ against Castiel's still heart. “One, one-thousand. Two, one-thousand. Three— _dammit, Cas, help me out here_ —Six, one-thousand. Seven, one-thousand. Eight...” He counted through to thirty compressions, and glanced up to Sam and Bobby's disbelieving eyes. Screw them. He didn't want to deal with it right now. Cas was _not allowed_ to die on him. Dean leaned down, thumping Castiel in the chest once more for comfort’s take, and breathed for him. One breath. _C'mon, Cas._ Two breaths.

A low keening sound erupted from deep within Castiel’s throat, and Dean stilled. Then, Castiel arched up, his entire body tensing and spasming suddenly as he choked, coughing as his body worked feverishly to pull in the oxygen it so desperately craved. He fell flat and still again, and Dean held his breath for a long moment as he rolled him onto his side into the recovery position, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. Dean felt something catch in his throat and his eyes burned, but he determinedly kept the tears at bay. He wasn’t going to cry like a frigging girl. “C'mon, Cas,” he encouraged again.

And then Castiel’s chest rose.

Dean stared for a moment, not daring to breathe on his own as the strange sensation like breaking the surface of water after sinking to the bottom of a lake stole over him through the connection he shared with Castiel. Then it stilled, and Dean watched in mute fascination as, again, Castiel’s chest moved and his lips parted on the intake of a slight breath.

Dean rushed forward, pulling Castiel up against him and pressing his fingers to the artery at Castiel’s throat. He breathed a sigh of relief, oh, _yes_.

“He’s breathing...and he has a pulse.” He looked up, feeling relief warming him from the inside out. Sam and Bobby stared back at him, eyes wide with shock. Sam smiled first, tremulous in his relief. Bobby’s mouth relaxed, the tightness around his eyes smoothing. Dean grinned at them both for a moment, savoring the moment, when he realized that they now had another problem. Cas was _cold_.

* * *

 

Dean stared at Castiel briefly, then stripped off his jacket. He ignored the chill that lingered on his own bared forarms as he lifted the ex-angel and pulled the jacket over his shoulders. Dean frowned at the white button-down closed around the hilt of a knife, easing it open to find the source of all the blood. He was surprised when he only saw one stab wound on Castiel’s chest, oozing blood slowly which Dean knew was partially due to the hypothermia.

“Sam, get started on that,” Dean commanded gruffly, nodding toward the wound. “Don’t want it opening up and bleeding the second we get him warm.”

Dean pulled Cas close around the waist, Cas’ side to his chest. Normally he’d be squirming in discomfort by now, put off by the proximity and the general chick-flick feel of this, but Castiel was hypothermic and some of the first lessons John Winchester taught his sons were how to survive in situations like this. Dean rubbed warmth into Cas’ back and shoulder while Sam taped down a square of gauze over Cas’ stab wound to put pressure on it until they could get him to a doctor.

“Dean, these look...” Sam started to say.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Crowley really did a number on him.”

“Some of them are already scarred over,” Bobby pointed out. “Why would Crowley have healed them?”

“To keep him from bleeding out,” Dean explained. “It’s no fun if your playmate dies before you get what you want out of ’em.” A short, awkward silence descended as Bobby and Sam watched Dean uncomfortably. No one wanted to think about Dean’s experience with torture. “We’re gonna need to get someone to look at these to make sure there’s no long-term damage.”

Bobby stood a few feet away, talking quickly and quietly into his cell phone. Dean was pretty sure he was trying to find Cas a doctor who understood the nature of their situation and could get to them quickly.

Bobby snapped his cell phone closed and turned to them. “We need to get him warm and back to Sioux Falls. Doc’s gonna meet us there to take another look at him.”

“What about Crowley?” Sam asked Dean. And yeah, Dean would love to do this thing Winchester-style and go hunt down the sonuvabitch. But right now?

“Let’s get Cas out of here,” he responded, glancing up to see Sam nod and smile slightly.

“I’ll take his legs,” Sam volunteered, and between the two of them they gathered Castiel up carefully and hoisted him from the operating table to the cradle of their arms. Bobby reached under Cas’ back to steady the ex-angel as he made a low sound of discomfort, and the ease of pressure on his chest smoothed out the lines on Castiel’s face. They got Castiel out of the prison slowly, and as soon as they made their way through the barrier it collapsed behind them as though it were never there. Dean took a quick moment to glance over his shoulder, and scowled to himself. He was _so_ going to find Crowley and roast him alive later.

He and Sam managed, somewhat breathlessly, to maneuver Castiel through the woods and then into the backseat of the Impala. Bobby fetched a blanket out of the truck to bunch it under Cas’ side, anchoring him to keep the pressure off his wounded chest. This time, Dean drove and Bobby led.

Dean had never been so thankful for the low throb of discomfort in his ribcage.

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached Sioux Falls and pulled into the the scrapyard, Castiel’s skin appeared lightly flushed. Dean was pretty pleased with that, though he spent the last hundred miles or so sweating and having to smell the utterly-diabolical odor of B.O. courtesy of Sam Winchester. Dean and Sam scrambled out of the Impala and the dusty, hot air felt like the finest air conditioning to them. Dean finally noticed the strange van, straight out of the 80’s, that was parked by Bobby’s house. He frowned thoughtfully at it for a moment as Bobby sauntered over.

Eva swung the driver’s door open and hopped down from the van, and Dean’s eyes popped open wide. Dr. Robert followed her from the passenger’s side of the vehicle, smiling and waving at Dean over Bobby’s shoulder. Dean hadn’t seen Eva and Dr. Robert since the incident with Death. He was suddenly glad for Bobby’s quick thinking, knowing that Dr. Robert would take care of Castiel. Between him and Sam, they managed to get Castiel out of the Impala and quickly into Bobby’s study, depositing him carefully onto the couch there.

Dr. Robert and Eva were right behind them with Bobby. “Dean Winchester!” Dr. Robert greeted, reaching up to pat Dean on the cheek once. He also gestured to Sam, who ducked automatically with a confused frown. When Dr. Robert musses Sam’s floppy hair, Dean smirked as his little brother glowered. “Sammy too! Good to see you, boys. Now, where is my patient?”

Dr. Robert moved to Castiel’s side, frowning at the ex-angel thoughtfully. “Oh. Oh, dear. Eva, take Dean and go get my things.”

Eva scowled at Dr. Robert’s back, and glared at Dean before turning to do as she was told. Dean grinned and winked at Sam before he followed her. Cas was in good hands now. He could afford to have some fun.

 

* * *

 

Dean took the few moments he and Eva had alone together to flirt shamelessly because, really? He _was_ Dean Winchester, and she was the only woman within the immediate vicinity. They were gathering supplies from the weird lime green van. (Dean really hated vintage vans. They creeped him out.) While Eva piled stuff into his arms, Dean caught her eye with a wink and said, “So, it’s been awhile. You’re looking really good.”

Eva rolled her eyes, ignored anything else he said until they got back inside.

After that she was busy helping Dr. Robert tend to Cas so Dean left her alone. Cas had two fractured ribs, the stab wound missed all vital organs but required some twenty stitches, and the burns from the taser-turned-defibrillator needed salve; the rest had already healed and left small scars over Castiel’s body that Dr. Robert fretted over the entire time. When Dr. Robert noticed bruises spreading over Castiel’s chest, he glanced aside to Dean and Sam. “CPR?”

“And a stubborn Winchester refusing to give up on it,” Sam retorted, earning a glare from Dean.

Dr. Robert nodded and continued his exam. “Responsive to tests, no sign of serious trauma to the brain,” Dr. Robert observed. “Probably have the hypothermia to thank for that, shouldn’t be any brain damage...”

Dean watched in interest after that; it never occurred to him to check Cas for any injury to his brain. And because of this, he noticed at once that while Eva was assisting Dr. Robert, she brushed Castiel’s bangs off his forehead tenderly.

Dean frowned and, in a way that was so typical of Cas he started to worry about this weird connection they were rocking, tilted his head to the side. Sam elbowed him and dragged him away from the study so they could leave Dr. Robert to work in peace. Dean shoved Sam in return and told him, “Dude, go take a shower. Sheesh.”

Castiel was bundled up when they were allowed back in to see him, but Dr. Robert wanted to wait around until Cas woke up and he could observe him for a few hours before he and Eva left. Bobby commanded Dean and Sam to get the ex-angel up to the guest room so that he could be a little more comfortable, so they did. Eva followed and sat with Castiel, continuing to smooth his bangs from his forehead as though she was _trying_ to soothe him. Dean thought to tease, “ _Oh_ , so you like the nerdy angelic type more, huh?”

Eva shot him a dirty look. “What is it to you?”

Dean raised both palms placatingly. “Just curious.” He smiled, but it withered under the wrath in her glare. Shifting his weight awkwardly, Dean elected to leave Cas to Eva’s capable hands and come back later. He hoped Cas wasn’t taken advantage of in the meantime, but Eva was kind of shifty and he wasn't sure what to expect out of her.

 

* * *

 

Castiel gained consiousness (sort of) a few hours later. Dr. Robert and Dean were sitting with him when his eyelashes fluttered, and a shock of blue peered through. Dean noticed first, seeing Cas’ fingers twitch reflexively around the bedsheets he gripped. He motioned to Dr. Robert, and leaned over Cas so they were eye-to-eye.

“Hey, man. How’re you feeling?”

Castiel squinted at him, eyes blinking furiously. A moment later, his expression relaxed and he muttered, “Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, Cas. I’m right here.”

Castiel stared at him and yeah, it was one of those familiar soul-searching ones. Dean tried to smile reassuringly. Cas sighed, and seemed to sag back into sleep, mumbling, “Good.”

Dean looked up at Dr. Robert, who nodded in satisfaction. “He’ll be all right with rest.” Dean smiled because yeah, he could live with that.

 

* * *

 

After Dr. Robert left, it took a few days for Castiel to make another appearance into the Land of the Living. Dean was sitting with him again, feet kicked up onto the bed as he sat in a chair and idly flipped through a car magazine, when Castiel made a rumbling sound and his eyes suddenly popped open. Dean sat up at once, as Castiel looked over to meet his gaze. Very eloquently, the ex-angel said, “Ouch.”

Dean blinked in surprise, then chuckled. “Yeah, I most definitely second that. You look like _crap_ , dude.”

Castiel glared at him for a moment, then sighed. The melancholy sound melted the smirk off Dean’s face. “Where was I?” Castiel inquired.

“According to Sammy, you were kinda in Limbo,” Dean said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “You might want to ask him to explain that, though. You know how I am with Geekinese.” Castiel huffed quietly, a soft spurt of laughter that caught Dean off guard for a minute. He smiled and asked again, “How you feeling?”

Castiel took a long moment to consider how to respond. “Sore. Irritated. Helpless. Itchy.”

Dean frowned at that little slipped _helpless_ , but otherwise it was not an unexpected response. “Okay. Need anything?”

“I would very much like a glass of water, please,” Castiel responded.

Dean nodded and told Cas he’d be right back. He reported the update to Sam and Bobby, and Sam volunteered to take the water up. At Dean’s questioning look, he explained sheepishly, “I’d like a minute to talk to him.” Dean watched his brother squirm for a minute in silence, then gave a nod. Sam fetched the glass of water, and took it with him upstairs to Cas’ room. It was a long time before Sam came back.

 

* * *

 

Castiel was surprised when he saw Sam enter the guest room in Dean’s stead. It must have shown in his expression because Sam offered him a half-apologetic smile as he brought the glass of water over and assisted Castiel into a semi-upright position long enough for Castiel to take a few sips. “Not too much too fast,” Sam warned him, taking the glass away. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

Castiel nodded his thanks, and let Sam fuss over him for a few minutes as the young hunter settled him back against the pillows and pulled the covers up and over his body. Sam sat by the bed. A moment of awkward silence passed, and Castiel opened his mouth just as Sam spurted, “So I wanted to apologize.” Castiel froze, and blinked. Sam stared back, then chuckled. “Sorry. I just need to get this out really quick, then you can go. Okay?”

“Of course, Sam,” Castiel croaked and swallowed against his still-dry throat. Sam had said to drink water slowly, so he didn’t reach for the water on the bedside table though he felt parched.

Sam fidgeted for a minute, and then started. “Okay, I realize after all this that I might have been a bit harsh with you a few times. I mean, I remember soulless-me threatening to kill you and then there was the time with the holy oil and I said...” He trailed off, glanced away, then cleared his throat to meet Castiel’s gaze again. “I realize we kinda didn’t give you the opportunity to really explain yourself. I know it was hypocritical of us to ream you out for working with Crowley when we were doing the same, and I know I said and did some things that...may not have seemed consistent with how I acted toward you. Especially, y’know, stabbing you in the back. Literally.” He laughed again, forced and stilted. “So, I just wanted to, you know. Say that I’m sorry for all that.”

Castiel stared at Sam for a few minutes before Sam said pointedly, “It’s uh... You can go now.”

“Oh. Thank you, Sam.” Castiel took a deep breath, winced when it puts the wrong pressure on his chest, and said while staring at his bedspread, “You have nothing to apologize for. I understand that my actions were...irresponsible and underhanded. I thought that I was simply making the wrong choices for the right reasons.” He met Sam’s gaze, earnest and wounded. “I also wanted to apologize, Sam, for tearing down your wall. I...it was an act of cruelty, I understand that now. I thought then that it would simply keep you and Dean out of danger, I never thought about the consequences it would have for _you_.”

“Well, actually.” Sam gave him a strange look. “I really don’t want you to apologize for that, Cas. I needed to know and I would have, either by your hand or my own. But, yeah. Apology accepted.” He paused and shifted his feet, then half-stood to pull his chair closer to Cas’ side. “Cas, I just need to ask—”

“I would never have left you without a soul if I had known what happened,” Castiel said before Sam could finish. “It...I was distracted, pulling you and Adam out of the Cage while Michael and Lucifer...” He shuddered, felt an old ache in his shoulders. He shook his head slowly. “I sincerely apologize, Sam, for my mistake.”

“No, no,” Sam waved him off. “That was all I needed to know. Thanks, Cas.”

It was a strange feeling that took over Castiel then. He thought he felt...lighter. He thought it might be _relief_.

 

* * *

 

Nearly a week passed, and Castiel healed enough to walk on his own well enough, except that he ached if he overexerted himself. Castiel felt more pain than he let on, but Dean seemed to see right through him, if the lingering looks the hunter directed at Castiel were any indication. Castiel knew the bond was at fault for forcing them to share emotional and physical sensations, and it made him uneasy.

Castiel was sitting in bed in the guest room when he finally saw it. Sometime during the night, Dean had to have brought it in and draped it over the chair positioned by Castiel’s bed. Castiel felt every muscle in his body tighten, and he welcomed the pain that it engendered as it distracted him from the heat that built behind his eyes and the strange feeling in his stomach that tightened a knot in his throat as he reached out and ran his fingers over the trench coat.

The heat built to a burning, and Castiel bit his lower lip hard to distract himself from it.

It wasn’t that the coat held any real intrinsic value. Castiel thought not, anyway. It was just that, he had that coat with him through everything. When he had first claimed Jimmy Novak’s body as his vessel, when he rebelled against Heaven under the say-so of Dean, when he helped to stop the Apocalypse before Michael and Lucifer got hold of their vessels, when he fought a war against his brothers in Heaven to protect the Earth he had come to love, when he had _won_ that war and released millions of souls from within him.

That coat had been witness to all of Castiel’s trials and all his victories. It had borne witness to parts of him he had never put much thought to, not as an angel and especially not now that he was human enough to feel so obtusely.

Castiel knew that he should not feel so strongly for material possessions, but the coat was _his_ and he was happy to see it.

 

* * *

 

Dean made his way up the stairs, going slower than usual because he needed to think before he actually reached Cas. He was feeling the urge to check up on the ex-angel. Castiel had been really quiet, and Dean knew what happened when Cas got quiet. _Thinking_ in general wasn’t going to help Cas, and it certainly wouldn’t help Dean who could feel everything Castiel did. Dean meant to talk to Castiel about some of that jumbled-up mess in his head, as well as some of the things they hadn’t been able to say to one another so far. He pondered the last few days while Crowley had Castiel. He already had Bobby putting feelers out, finding what he could about the demon’s whereabouts. What Dean was more concerned about was the feelings that he had been perceiving through the weird connection he had with Cas.

He reached Cas’ door, intent on greeting his friend with some sort of teasing jibe, and froze when he saw Castiel’s fingers brushing over the hem of the trench coat. For some reason, the sight made Dean’s stomach knot up. He kept hearing Castiel’s voice, dull and eerily calm, repeat in his head, _You aren’t my family, Dean. I have no family._ Castiel had rejected the idea that he was part of their family then, and Dean understood his reasons a little better now. That didn’t stop him from feeling frustrated with the ex-angel for giving up on the idea so easily, especially considering what Dean had tried to tell him before Castiel went all Cthulu-God. Dean knew it was going to be an effort, but he wanted to help Cas understand, somehow.

Dean cleared his throat pointedly, and Castiel jumped and pulled his hand back to his lap as he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze. Dean smirked a little, jerking his chin toward the trench coat. “Thought you might miss that.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” Castiel let his gaze drift back to the trench coat, and Dean entered the room fully, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That was sorta how I knew something was up when I got to the hospital,” Dean confessed. “You wouldn’t exactly leave it behind if you decided to run away from home.” Dean gave Castiel a pointed look as he said this, and Castiel firmly kept his gaze focused on the trench coat. “So what gives, Cas? You were planning on leaving the hospital?” He was glad that he didn’t have to explain how he knew all that. Castiel glanced up at him, his expression pinched.

“I was...I didn’t think...”

“Right. You didn’t think. You’re developing a pattern here, Cas.” Dean thought maybe he should have kept the bite out of his voice, because suddenly Cas was glaring at him.

“I didn’t _think_ , based on what I have been feeling from you and Sam and Bobby, that you wanted me around any longer,” Castiel returned impatiently.

“That why you were planning on giving up when Crowley had you?” Dean asked. Castiel was silent, and Dean threw up his hands. “God, Cas! As if a year’s worth of lies hasn’t been enough, now I gotta worry about you being a flight risk too?” Dean didn’t want to limit Castiel’s sins to wanting to leave their broken little family unit, but he didn’t want to say that Castiel was _suicidal_ either. He didn’t want to think about what part he may have had in Castiel being this way. And Dean _really_ didn’t want to think about what it meant that Castiel was finally admitting to being able to feel everything that Dean had been feeling. Holy crap.

Castiel was quiet even for him. Dean stared at him, waiting for a rebuttal of some sort, then squared his shoulders. Dean thought maybe they were both feeling a little anxious, a little uneasy. Castiel was typically stoic and reserved. Hell, it took him months of knowing Dean before he would even admit (after swearing Dean to secrecy) that he felt _doubt_. So yeah, Dean was pretty sure neither of them liked this bond thing that was allowing them full access to each other’s thoughts and feelings. Crap. Dean was living a chick-flick just by _thinking_. He forced a damper on that, shoving everything to one corner of his head so he could deal with it, and Castiel being able to _see_ all of it, later.

“Dude, this is _so_ screwed up,” Dean grumbled to himself. Castiel nodded as if in agreement, but was now studying Dean intently, a frown furrowing his brow. Dean stared back, and for a second it was just like old times. But then Castiel scowled and turned his attention right back to the trench coat. Dean frowned at him, and shifted uncomfortably. He remembered that he made a promise to talk things through with Castiel, to address that _bad water under the bridge_. He was about to speak when he heard the sound of Sam thundering up the stairs.

“Dean, hey!” Sam leaned in the doorway looking pleased with himself which could only mean— “I think I found what we were looking for,” Sam smirked. “Wanna come downstairs and summon a demon?”

Dean grinned at Sam, “That sounds great. Cas?” When he glanced to Castiel, the ex-angel seemed hesitant to meet his gaze. Dean ignored that for the time being, thinking maybe Castiel was feeling just as awkward about their situation as _he_ was, and said instead, “You coming with?” There was a pause, and Castiel nodded. He climbed to his feet slowly, and followed as Dean and Sam made their way from the room. Dean glanced back in time to see Castiel hesitate and touch the trench coat one last time, as though wondering whether or not to don it like familiar old armor. After a moment, Castiel merely picked the coat up and tucked it over his arm instead of wearing it. Dean didn’t know why it unnerved him.

 

* * *

 

The spell was kind of simple, a small variation to some of the summonings they’d used on demons before. This one was simply designed to ensare the demon inside the Devil’s Trap they set up. Either way, it surprised Dean how quickly they had a very unimpressed Crowley stuck inside the circle painted on Bobby’s floor. Crowley glanced over the occupants of the room with one cocked eyebrow, smirking when his eyes fell on Cas who leaned against the wall.

“So the angel survived,” Crowley observed, then threw up a hand. “Ah! Excuse me, ex-angel. And ex-god.” He smiled charmingly at Castiel, then directed his attention to the others. “Something I can do for you boys? Have a bit of a schedule to keep, here.”

“What the hell did you do to me and Cas?” Dean demanded at once, and Crowley chuckled.

“I take it darling _Cas_ has been too busy _bleeding_ and feeling sore to explain the soul bond between you lovely ducklings,” Crowley surmised. “Gotta say, after all the times he needed you gentlemen before, I was a little surprised by your vigilant search.”

Dean glanced at Castiel who closed his eyes a moment, then glanced at Dean. “ _Profound bond_ ,” he said pointedly, ignoring the second half of Crowley’s words.

Crowley watched the exchange, and continued. “When Wingsy here cradled your soul and pulled it up from the Pit, a bond was created between soul and Grace. You might consider it a signature of a guardian angel and his charge,” Crowley explained, eyes directed to Dean’s shoulder. Dean glanced down at the handprint hidden under a black t-shirt. “Doesn’t take too much to find out the source of a bond, and even if the angel in question is Fallen the bond can be activated to its full potential. Human gets the scar, angel gets the mark on his Grace.”

“Wow, that was kinda easy,” Sam observed.

“Oh, as soon as I get out of here, things will get a bit harder for you boys,” Crowley promised, his mouth curling and betraying the agitation he hid so carefully. He shifted, taking a deep breath. “And how are you boys, by the way?” he asked Dean. “Still feeling those funny little twin tingles? Bet if I’d cut off Cas’ arm, you’d feel the stump.”

“Yeah, and what’s _that_ all about? ’Cause exchanging feelings? So not my bag,” Dean grumbled.

Crowley sighed, as if Dean was some unpleasant insect that just flew onto his Armani suit. “The bond’s _full potential_ , Winchester, means you and Blue Eyes get to play Zan and Jayna.”

“I don’t under—” Castiel started, and Dean cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“I’ll explain it later,” he said.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Crowley interrupted, mouth twisting maliciously, “as long as you carry that shred of Grace in you, you would feel _something_ until Cassy-boy was rotted away to nothing more than ash and dust. And even then you might feel a niggling little hole somewhere.” Crowley leered at Dean. “Nice work, by the way, thinking of a defibrillator _and_ locking lips with your little bosom buddy? I had hoped you might just give up, but...that was certainly a fun show.”

Feeling heat flood his face, Dean spat, “Those were desperate measures you _son of a—_ ”

“Desperate for something, indeed,” Crowley smirked and Dean ignored the blank confused look on Castiel’s face and moved in on the smug demon hoping to break his _face_ , but Sam interrupted, “You knew the bond between Dean and Cas would let them share pain?”

“General theory,” Crowley said flippantly, gesturing with one hand. “During my time with the late All-Mother, I discovered a few interesting treats.” Dean pulled an impatient face as he turned a glare on Castiel. The ex-angel wouldn’t meet his gaze. Crowley continued, “A few of the monsters I had on hand felt _everything_ I tried on dear old Evie. And all those damned eggs.” Crowley’s nose wrinkled in disgust and he mock-shivered. Dean rolled his eyes. “I assume you can figure out from there how your new joined hips are going to sway,” Crowley said then. “So I should be free to go?”

Dean gave him a look of blatant disbelief. “The _hell_ makes you think—?” He noticed the scrapes in the Devil’s Trap too late and wondered what could have caused them before Crowley snapped out of existence. Dean saw the demon’s knife left in the middle of one of the lines of the trap a moment later, and howled several curses in impotent rage. And then several things twisted inside him, and he turned his eyes onto Castiel.

Awesome. Rage? Not so impotent.

 

* * *

 

Castiel wasn’t certain what he expected after the initial surprise of seeing Crowley vanish but he certainly wasn't expecting to feel his own frustrations being echoed back at him, as though bounced off a wall. And he _certainly_ wasn’t expecting to feel Dean’s frustration growing and building and turning over into a blinding anger.

He had to admit to himself, later, that he _did_ expect Dean’s response to that anger. “So that was partially pointless, because we _still_ don’t know how to break this stupid bond thing, and you _could have told us all of that_.” Dean stepped forward, moving into Castiel’s personal space which in any other circumstance Castiel might point out. Now, though, Dean moved into his space to point a finger at Castiel. “Did you already _know_ all of that, what he just said?”

“I knew of the bond,” Castiel hedged.

“And you didn’t see fit to _tell us_?” Dean growled.

“About the bond?” Castiel gave Dean a look. “About the _profound bond_? I thought I had mentioned that already. You seemed not to want to hear about it.”

“But you knew how it worked? How all this—” He gesticulated sharply with both hands between himself and Castiel. “—works. Right?” Castiel started to open his mouth, but Dean growled over him, “You _should have told me_ , Cas. Shouldn’t we be past all this lying crap?” Castiel started to argue again, to point out that he didn’t lie.

Again, Dean cut him off. “Omission is also _lying_ , Cas.” If Dean wasn’t going to listen to him, Castiel wasn’t going to stay and hang onto his every word. Castiel shot Dean a scathing glare, and sidled away from the wall to turn away and leave the room. “Ah—oh, no the hell you didn’t just...” Dean started after him, Sam right on his heels.

He heard Sam murmuring quietly to Dean, urging him to _calm down or I won’t let you talk to him_. Castiel almost smiled. Leave it to Sam to be the Winchester who forgave Castiel.

The other Winchester seemed to be fighting an urge to strangle him. “Must suck not to have any wings to _flap off with_ , huh?” Dean called.

“Dean!” Sam snapped, but Dean ignored him. Sam stopped near the door to the living room, lingering there and glancing at Bobby as the older hunter joined him.

Castiel flinched, paused with his back turned to Dean while Sam and Bobby observed the argument behind them. The ex-angel took a moment to compose his features, knowing that Dean was merely trying to bait him into anger, not hurt. He turned to face Dean, saw a flicker of response cross the hunter’s features as Dean sensed Castiel’s hurt. “Yes, Dean,” he said carefully, “I am, yet again, the powerless, helpless baby in the trench coat. Does that satisfy you somehow?”

“Not at all, just means I have more baggage to drag all over the country,” Dean responded and Castiel visibly jerked away from him. Without meeting Dean’s gaze, Castiel stalked across the room and settled carefully onto the couch, folding his hands and bracing his elbows against his knees so he could glare at the floor.

Dean wouldn’t let up, and loomed over Castiel with his arms crossed over his chest. “So let’s get this straight. After months, _months_ of feeding us a bunch of bull, it slipped your mind to tell _me_ that you have some freaky angel-feelers stuck in my soul and that you knew they could be used to do _this_ to me?” Dean demanded, towering over Castiel.

Castiel closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

“Anything else you need to tell us, Cas? You didn’t leave anything out this time, did you? Like maybe you still have enough mojo left to help the ex out of his cage downstairs and you’re just playing like you’re on the DL so you can _steal_ something else? Man, I should have known after dealing with all your dick brothers that you’d be no different!”

 _That_ hit Castiel hard, and a deep penetrating sadness consumed him for several seconds. Dean’s expression shifted for a second ruefully, then hardened again. Castiel pushed to his feet and crowded into Dean’s space until the young hunter retreated a step. “Sometimes I regret ignoring my brothers’ warnings about getting close to the humans in my charge,” Castiel admitted, his voice quiet. Dean faltered again for just a moment, but then rage entered his eyes and Castiel sensed him throwing up a wall. It only served to frustrate Castiel further and in response, Castiel also bristled. Words full of force and venom, he hissed, “ _Everything_ that I lied to you about, _everything_ that I did was to protect you and your brother and Bobby. And I may have been wrong but _where were you_ with any alternate ideas on how to beat Raphael _before_ he destroyed the world?”

That seemed to catch Dean off guard for a second, then he came back full-force. “I might have been _able_ to help you if you would have come—”

“ _I did_ ,” Castiel ground out. “I came and you were raking leaves! I thought about my promise to Sam, and you looked happy, and Crowley came to me then and there. _I had one day_ , Dean. One day in Heaven, a handful of moments on Earth. _One day_.”

Again with the blank look, which quickly dissolved into a sneer. “So glad all the cards are finally on the table,” Dean said. Castiel’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed in confusion, and with an aggravated sigh and an eye roll Dean said, “At least you finally freaking told me, Cas. You could have done that _before_ all this.”

Castiel gave him a flat look. “When did you _let_ me speak?”

And that fired Dean right back up. “You had _months_ there to tell us what was going on, Cas. You never did.”

Apparently seeing that this was going nowhere good, Sam interjected, “Dean—”

“Stay out of this, Sammy,” Dean growled over his shoulder, turning an expectant stare on the ex-angel.

Castiel sighed. Here they were, full circle again. There was a strange feeling in Castiel’s stomach, like it was churning. He gritted his teeth. “Do not presume that I'm the only one at fault, Dean. I tried to tell you, several times. Nearly every time you called me. You weren’t interested in anything I had to say, anything I was doing. You only wanted my help.”

Dean pulled up short and gaped at him. “So all that crap Rachel was spouting, was that _her_ or _you_?”

Castiel blinked. “Those opinions were her own, and she was out of line. But I was _fighting a war_ , Dean. I barely had enough time to cater to _you_.”

Dean stared at him, jaw tense. Then, he turned to the trench coat slung over the back of a chair on the other side of the living room where Castiel left it earlier and picked it up, juggling its weight between his hands for a moment. When he looked back up at Castiel, his green eyes were cold and hard. “All of this could have been avoided if you would’ve manned up and told me the truth. We’re done here.” With the echo of their argument before Castiel rebelled against Heaven the first time, Dean shoved the trench coat into Castiel’s chest and turned. He brushed by Sam and Bobby and left the house, slamming the front door behind him.

Castiel started when the door slammed, and glared down at the trench coat where he clutched it against his sore chest. Sam and Bobby were silent, seeming to try and process what had just happened. Castiel didn’t know what to tell them, and struggled against the feeling that something was stuck in his throat as heat rose up the back of his neck and his eyes filled. He blinked, hard, trying to force back the foreign wetness at his eyes. He was shocked when moisture collected and spilled over, one drop rolling down the line of his cheek.

Castiel crumbled back to his seat on the couch. He quickly identified the anger, guilt, and shame that overwhelmed his senses and was surprised by their vehemence. Sam and Bobby were still watching him when he swiped the back of his wrist over his eyes and chanced a quick glance up. He looked away, nearly turning bodily toward the window so as not to meet their inquisitive, concerned stares.

A moment passed, and he took a deep, racking breath. Castiel sensed the surprise of both Bobby and Sam, neither of whom had ever witnessed him shedding a tear and both of whom seeming more than intrigued by this gesture of human weakness. Bobby made a soft, gruff noise, then said to Sam, “The other idgit is all yours.”

Sam hummed in assent, and vanished. Castiel furrowed his brow, listening to the sound of Bobby’s boots crossing the floor. Then a heavy weight landed on his shoulder—Bobby’s hand. Bobby squeezed once when Castiel glanced up at him again. “Let’s talk a minute, Feathers.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Dean!” The screen door slammed behind Sam as he followed his brother outside moments after Dean’s outburst in the living room. Sam paused and scanned the immediate area but Dean was, of course, nowhere in sight. That was fine, Sam already knew where he would find his brother. He steered himself toward the Impala where it was parked further out into the scrapyard.

Sam found Dean predictably perched on the hood of his car, beer in hand. He took a moment to reign in his frustration with his brother, inhaling deeply before he joined Dean. Dean’s eyes flickered toward him then away again as Sam stared at him, awaiting some sort of explanation. After it became obvious that Dean was doing his best to ignore him, Sam said, “You’re a real jackass, you know that?”

Dean didn’t spare Sam even the slightest glance as he lifted his beer to take a short pull. “Not now, Sammy.”

“Dean,” Sam said again, infusing his tone with warning. Dean glared at Sam in the way that he did when he meant _drop it or I’ll drop you_. Sam huffed in even more frustration, and knew that he was bordering on annoyance now. “Dude, we’re _gonna_ talk this out. Whether you want to or not.”

“What’s the point?” Dean queried.

That pulled Sam up short and taken aback, he stared quizzically at his brother. “Huh?”

Dean drew another pull of beer, watching Sam carefully as he sorted through the words he wanted to say. Finally, Dean responded, “I don’t really see the point in talking about any of this, dude. It’s not like I don’t already know what the guy’s going through, y’know?” Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam who watched him impassively, silently encouraging Dean to continue. Dean sighed, “I get it, okay? I was a dick to Cas.”

“Dean, some of the things you said...” Sam murmured gently.

“I know, Sam.” Yeah, okay, Dean felt...bad. He regretted saying some of those things, because some of them _were_ really just _mean_. It had been obvious in every flinch of Castiel’s face, every brief expression of despair. Those blue eyes had been more hurt than angry, and he knew that he was basically a dirtbag but he really couldn’t help himself. Some of that had been building up for the last couple months, and especially since Castiel had been in his confessional of holy fire, delivering his sinful admission to him. He _got_ mean when he was angry, more out of necessity than anything else. The best defense was a good offense, after all, and he couldn’t stand to be hurt by people he was close to, that he thought he should be able to _trust_. He thought he should have probably already learned this lesson once, with Sam.

Sam saw the emotions chasing each other over Dean’s expression, and knew the turmoil his brother must have felt. He watched for the moment when Dean’s face twitched, and stood back as Dean suddenly swung back his arm and hurled the beer bottle across the yard. “ _Damn it_ ,” Dean growled to himself, then scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

Sam waited for a beat, watching Dean struggle to collect himself, and finally prompted, “Dean, maybe we should go inside.”

Dean slid off the Impala, the car rocking slightly as it adjusted, and released a sigh of frustration. “I know,” he sighed. “You’re probably right.” He said this slowly, as if in disbelief that he was actually agreeing with his brother. Then he added with a slight shake of his head, “I just...can’t yet. I need a few minutes. Need to clear my head.” Sam continued to observe Dean in silence. Dean sighed again, this time in resignation. “Look, I’m gonna stay out here and give my baby a once-over, okay?”

Sam sighed, but nodded in assent. He turned to leave, and then remembered that he wanted to ask Dean something. Turning back to his brother, Sam met Dean’s curious expression. Sam studied him for a beat, then scrunched his nose in the thoughtful but uncomfortable way he did sometimes when he was about to ask something Dean didn’t want to talk about. “So, um. What does it feel like?”

Dean gave him a look. “What, having a full-blast care’n’share with the ex-angel who temporarily suffered a god complex?” he snarked, then added, “Peachy, Sammy.” Dean sighed before he continued, “He has all these weird reactions to _everything_ because I guess all of it’s too new for him to know how to deal with it.” He paused for a moment. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure how to deal with it all, either.”

A long but not uncomfortable silence passed. Then Sam nodded his understanding. “Okay.” He wished there was more he could do for Dean, but he knew better than to keep pestering his brother. Dean had to process through some of this on his own. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.” Sam shifted a look onto the Impala. Then he smirked and added, “ _Jerk_.”

Dean glanced up at him and smirked slightly before he nodded. Sam turned and walked back toward the house. He hadn’t quite made it out of earshot when he heard Dean chuckle lightly and call, “See you later, bitch!"

* * *

 

Dean watched Sam leave, then grew quiet as he thought back on some of the things he said to Castiel. The first thing he lingered on was how he had compared Cas to his brothers. It didn’t even take a minute for Dean to realize how wrong he was to say something like that. Sure, Castiel made some mistakes but he helped Dean, Sam, and Bobby whenever he could, whenever it _really_ mattered. Hell, Castiel had already proven that he was still with Team Free Will by releasing the souls from Purgatory the way he did. Dean shifted through the argument, mind rolling over all the hurtful words he said. The weird bond allowed him to feel some of the lingering pain and regret Castiel was experiencing, and Dean’s stomach rolled with discomfort to the point where he thought he may be sick.

He thought about some of the accusations Castiel made, and realized that they weren't entirely false. Every time he called the ex-angel over the last year, he showed very little interest in Castiel or how he was doing. He realized that he never really concerned himself with his friend, partially because to Dean Castiel was always unstoppable and partially because Dean had been too busy worrying about Sam to deal with Cas and his issues. He had been selfish, neglectful. God, how could he have neglected _his best friend_ so much for so long? He told Cas that he was family, but Dean wasn’t even sure what that meant. He never exactly _treated_ Castiel like he treated his family and he _knew_ that. But he _did_ care about the former angel, cared for him like a brother. He just really didn’t know how to show it to the newly-Fallen angel. He started to think about how he treated Castiel when he, Sam, and Bobby had interrogated him in the ring of holy fire. He realized that Cas was right again, and that he hadn’t really listened to anything the angel had to say then.

 _“You don’t believe me.”_

 _Of_ course _he didn’t, and why should he? “I don’t believe a word that’s coming outta your mouth.” Dean turned toward the angel, and smirked at him condescendingly. He felt a strange twist of satisfaction when Cas—Castiel, no longer just_ Cas _—flinched and glanced away from him._

 _When Castiel met his eyes again, Dean felt his stomach twist again—now with regret at the hard look in the angel’s eyes. “I thought you said that we were like family. Well, I think that too. Shouldn’t trust run both ways?”_

 _And Dean wished that he could agree. But there was far, far too much anger and hurt and betrayal now between them for him to do anything other than balk at the notion. “Cas, I just_ can’t _.”_

 _“Dean, I do everything that you ask.” Castiel was pleading now, and the idea of_ his friend _needing to plead with him stung sharply. “I always come when you call. And I am your friend. Still. Despite your—lack of faith in me, and now your threats. I just saved you. Yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you?”_

 _Dean glanced away. He hadn’t missed the hitch in Castiel’s words._

 _“All I ask is this one thing,” Castiel said then._

 _Mistrustingly, Dean replied, “Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?”_

 _“I’ve earned that, Dean.”_

And maybe he had. Dean wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he could have done better at listening to Castiel. He wondered if his friend had a point about the souls from Purgatory, and if he should have considered Castiel’s words more carefully. Maybe if he had, this whole thing would have gone differently. Dean sighed as he realized, he should have been better. He should have been a better friend, a better _brother_. He should have trusted Cas.

He lingered on these thoughts, and it didn’t take long for Bobby to find him there, boots scuffing enough in the dirt to let Dean know who was skulking up behind him. Dean nodded at him, and turned his attention back to the engine. He thought about how Bobby hung back with Cas after he and Sam left, and wondered out loud, “How’s he doing?”

A second later, Dean bowed under a gentle but firm cuff to the back of his head. “That is the dumbest question you could’ve asked, boy. He ain’t up there singing _Kumbaya_ , if that’s what you’re askin’.”

Dean tensed for a second, halfway through tightening a bolt. A moment later, he released a breath and straightened to turn to Bobby, hands moving restlessly, helplessly. “God, Bobby, some of the things I said to him were so...”

“Mean?” Bobby suggested, raising an eyebrow. “Unkind? Untrue?”

Dean’s mouth worked, but no sound emerged. After a moent, he rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly and nodded. He felt like a five-year-old kid, pushing a toe through the dirt and studying his shoes while his father chided him.

Bobby scoffed at him, and it sounded fond. “Look, I’ve already said my piece to Cas. Now I’m going to tell you: the only thing keeping that boy from being an actual Winchester is his heritage and the fact that he adopted a body that ain’t blood-related. I already told you once, though, family don’t end at blood. Cas has made his mistakes and has done things that hurt us all. But even given that, that idgit’s still gone above and beyond for you time and again and _you_ said that before.” When Dean made to interrupt, Bobby glared at him again and said, “I’m only telling you this once, Dean. You ain’t had much of an opportunity in your life to make friends. Don’t lose the best one you got.”

He reached up, squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “Now, don’t you have something more important to be doing than working on the car?” He raised both brows pointedly, and patted Dean on the shoulder once more in silent encouragement. Then Bobby disappeared into the house, mumbling about _growing lady-parts_. He glared over his shoulder at Dean to make sure that the elder Winchester was following.

Dean went with Bobby into the house. He ignored the look that Bobby and Sam exchanged, some mixture of triumph and smugness that Dean just plain didn’t like. Sam seemed to be book-diving into every possible resource Bobby had on bonds of souls and how to break spiritual connections that intruded a bit too much for either side’s liking. Sam’s eyes moved from Bobby to Dean, and his baby brother gave a small smile that left Dean feeling (and he would never admit this even under the greatest duress) warm and comforted; he was kind of glad Sam knew him so well.

But that was only the first step. Dean started to feel a little antsy as his eyes scanned the room. There was no sign of Castiel. Dean wetted his lips, and pondered what he might say to his friend when he saw him. Not like he hadn’t apologized before, but he realized that he never really had to apologize like this to _Cas_. Sure, the odd _sorry_ here or there when Cas had been losing his Grace during the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but never a _hey, look I know I suck and I can be a real jerk but can you forgive me because I’m kinda maybe really sorry._

Dean was thinking about asking Sam for advice or even biting the bullet and asking Sam to _talk_ with him about their freaky girly-feelings when the creak of the stairs alerted him and his companions to Castiel making his way down. Dean frowned again and turned to the staircase to see the ex-angel moving down the stairs; when he saw Dean, Castiel’s steps slowed with hesitance and caution. Dean swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he saw a flash of hurt in Castiel’s eyes before they fell to the floor. Dean spared Sam a glance, and his brother met his eyes. After a moment, with compassion and understanding in his gaze, Sam smiled slightly and gave Dean an encouraging nod.

Silence stretched out, and Castiel kept his gaze fixed to the floor as his brow wrinkled suddenly. Dean watched as Castiel picked his way to the couch and sat, one hand coming up to rub at his temple absently.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said, concerned, “how’re you feeling, man?"

Castiel’s fingertips massaged against his temple for another long moment, and he sighed as he seemed to think of a way to respond to Sam’s question. Concerned, Dean asked, “Your head bothering you?” Ever since Dr. Robert mentioned brain trauma, Dean had been kicking himself for not thinking about it. If Cas showed any signs _now_...

“Yes,” Castiel admitted, eyes widening slightly as he shot a look toward Dean. Surpised, Dean realized, surprised at the source of concern and Dean wanted to kick himself so hard. Then Castiel fixed him with a bland look and stated matter-of-factly, “You are...making my head ache, Dean.”

Dean balked at that, jaw going slack. “ _I’m_ giving you a headache?” he repeated incredulously, furrowing his brow.

“Yes. Your emotions are...” Castiel gave his head a light shake, and left it at that. Dean didn’t miss Bobby clearing his throat to cover what might have been a chuckle and Sam covering his smirk by rubbing one hand over his mouth, but he himself still felt confused. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and another long, awkward silence ensued. Soon enough, Sam gave Dean an impatient look and a small sigh, and rolled his eyes fondly. Dean opened his mouth as though to respond to Sam’s look, then quickly changed his mind and focused his gaze on the ceiling.

“Right. So, Cas,” Sam said, turning to the resident expert on all things supernatural, “I’ve been working on resarching this soul bond thing to try and find a cure, ’cause I _know_ you don’t wanna be binded emotionally to my brother for too long.” Castiel and Dean exchanged a glance. Dean saw Sam smile as he caught the glance, and Dean focused on him to ignore the uncomfortable way Castiel continued to stare at him. “You mind helping me out here?”

Castiel averted his attention from Dean to Sam, and the small smile he gave the younger Winchester confirmed the relief he felt. Castiel relaxed slightly, the tension bleeding from his shoulders so he no longer resembled a statue. Dean grabbed a beer, and settled in at Bobby’s desk to listen while Sam grilled Castiel on all he knew about the connection between angel and charge. Dean listened keenly, finding it easier to focus now that he wasn't blinded by anger.

Some of Sam’s questions were really to-the-point, Sam being a master-researcher and all. Others? Were kind of weird. “So you and Dean are basically Siamese twins without the physical connection,” Sam commented, and somehow it wasn’t a question but Castiel answered anyway, face all scrunched up in confusion.

“Sam, don’t be absurd. Dean is an American and so was Jimmy before I inherited his body. I, of course, am not of this world at all. Nothing about this is ´Siamese’,” Castiel said, so seriously that Dean almost snorted into his beer. Sam gave Castiel a look like he somehow forgot Cas was a freak of nature, and moved on with the questioning.

By the time they finished, Bobby and Sam both had enough notes to fill entire notebooks. Forget Crowley; Dean had his very own Geek Squad to find the answers they needed. It turned out that once Dean became Castiel’s charge the bond was forged in order to give Castiel access to Dean’s emotions beyond the baseline so that he could better protect and nurture Dean (and Dean didn’t want to think about how weird that sounded so he didn’t). Castiel never took an opportunity to open up the bond to its full potential the way that Crowley had, citing that he never wanted to _intrude_ on Dean’s privacy which Dean appreciated. Castiel began to grow tense again as he described all of this, and Dean noticed that the ex-angel didn’t look him in the face the whole time he was talking.

“There may be something we can do, not so much a cure but a way to sever the connection,” Castiel said sometime later, looking surprised as though he just realized the solution himself. That made Dean feel a little better, knowing that Castiel didn’t intentionally omit a possible cure to their little problem. Sam encouraged Castiel to continue with the flick of a wrist, and Castiel elaborated, “The source of the bond is my Grace, and the source of my mark on Dean is also my Grace. Perhaps, if I can siphon the Grace from Dean...”

“...You can break the connection,” Dean finished for him. Castiel, still not meeting Dean’s gaze, stared at the floor and nodded. Dean rolled his shoulders. “Hey, I’m down. If, y’know, you _can_ siphon the Grace outta me. Gotta say, don’t much like carrying around a chunk of angel mojo.”

Sam seemed cautious. “What would you have to do?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel thought the process through, brow pinched. “It would not be difficult, or overly taxing. I would simply have to touch the mark I left on Dean and call my Grace from it. It might require using a sigil, but my Grace should still recognize me and want to return to me. Once I’ve pulled all the Grace back, Dean and I should be rid of...each other.” It was obvious that Castiel was trying (and failing) to make a joke of some sort, so Sam smiled at him.

“Sounds relatively simple,” Bobby commented. “When do you think you can do this, Feathers?”

“I should be able to do it immediately, if Dean is willing,” Castiel said, and Dean caught and held his eyes for several beats as Castiel silently asked for permission. Dean smiled at the continued eye contact, and nodded his consent.

“All right, then, boy.” Bobby gave Dean a questioning look. “Ready to do this?”

“No.” Dean didn’t realize that he spoke the word aloud until all three of his companions gave him strange looks. He returned them all, settling his gaze last on Castiel. “Before we do that, you and me gotta...” He gritted his teeth, looking almost pained at this prospect. “We gotta talk.”

“Dean, we have been conversing for quite awhile,” Castiel pointed out in puzzlement.

Dean sighed, “No, I mean. Just. Guys, can we have a couple of minutes, here?” He directed a glance at Sam and Bobby. Both of them smirked, but obligingly started to make their way from the room. Castiel stared after them in barely-muted concern, nonplussed. After Dean listened to both hunters exiting the back of the house, he turned back to Castiel and huffed out a breath, “So.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, and his resolve began to wither under the silent stare Castiel fixed upon him.

Dean struggled to find something to say, and after several moments, Castiel sighed. “Dean, this isn’t necessary.”

“Huh?” Dean blinked at him.

Castiel said patiently, “I know you are not fond of...sharing your feelings. You have no need. But there is something I would like to say—”

“You’re nothing like them,” Dean blurted suddenly. Castiel stared at Dean silently, waiting for him to continue. Dean elaborated on a sigh, “Your frat brothers. You aren’t like them. That...was just me being a jerk.”

Castiel lowered his head for a brief moment, considering Dean’s statement. Then, he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze. “I was also...unfair to you.” He squared his shoulders, eyes apologetic. “I have never regretted our friendship, Dean.”

Something about the way he said it bolstered Dean’s newfound resolve, and at the same time relieved him in a profound way. “Well...good,” Dean said, smiling slightly. “'Cause that would kinda suck.” Dean took in a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Cas, I should have treated you better,” he said quickly, getting it out in a rush. “I should have trusted you, man. I can’t even imagine how things might have been different if I’d shown you even an ounce of the faith you’ve always shown me.”

Castiel’s expression shifted, now full of remorse. “Dean, I don’t know how to make up for...everything that I have done. It was never my intent to—”

“I know that, Cas,” Dean interrupted, motioning one hand. “I know you did what you thought was right. You made mistakes, but then again, you were right about me making some of those myself. I kinda suck at the whole friend thing. I mean, how many friends do I _really_ have?” He laughed hollowly, and gave Castiel an appraising look. “Dude, psychiatrists would _kill_ to have us in a case study.” Castiel gave him an amused look, and nodded. Dean continued uneasily, “Sooo...we’re good here? I mean, we don’t have to do like Sammy and hug it out?”

Castiel gave him a puzzled look. “We can do that if you wish it, Dean.”

“ _No_ ,” Dean said quickly. “No need for that.”

Seemingly satisfied with this, Castiel gave a small smile. “Then yes, I believe we are _good_ , as you say.”

“Good, ’cause I honestly don’t think I can stand too much more of this touchy-feely crap with my manhood intact,” Dean said on a shudder.

“Perhaps,” Castiel said hesitantly, “a handshake would suffice?”

“A _handshake_?” Dean echoed incredulously.

“It seems fitting,” Castiel replied earnestly.

“Wow, Cas. Way to shuck off the training wheels,” Dean teased good-naturedly. He hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. “I think I can deal with that,” he smirked. Castiel looked pleased, and gripped Dean’s hand tight. Dean valiantly didn’t flinch as he returned the firm grip.

* * *

 

Castiel stood in the living room with Dean, Sam, and Bobby. It was mostly for the purpose of comfort, Castiel thought. Sam joined his side, and asked, “You ready, Cas?”

Castiel glanced toward Dean in silent query. Dean nodded, and Castiel redirected his gaze to Sam again. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Sam carried a black Sharpie that he held up now. “Do you want me to—” He gestured toward Castiel’s shirt. “—draw the sigil for you?” It was fortunate that the sigil was minor enough in Enochian magic that it required only hard lines of ink and not the sacrifice of blood to activate the ancient magic.

Castiel thought about it, then nodded gratefully and unbuttoned his shirt. He was careful as he pulled the shirt open, the soreness from each bruise there still threatening to cloud his senses. Crowley had been merciless, truly, but Castiel was still confused by the sight of the bruising even now. He didn’t remember Crowley doing this much damage, seemed to remember all of it healing. His hesitation caught Sam’s attention, and the younger hunter said, “Cas?”

Castiel glanced up to meet the curious stares of his companions. “I have been wondering what these are from,” he admitted, glancing down at the display of bruises in various shades.

Sam bit the corner of his lip as he responded, "When we finally got to you, you weren't breathing and you didn't have a pulse." Sam glanced sidelong toward Dean, who shifted his gaze to stare at the middle distance over Castiel's shoulder. "We had to do CPR to bring you back. And it got pretty hairy after awhile, when we weren't sure you were coming back..." Castiel was hopeless with pop culture, but he understood the basics of human first aid and therefore recognized the term CPR. He nodded, and a small smile stole over Sam's expression before he continued. "But of course, Dean never gave up on you even when Bobby and I asked him to let you go." From the glare Dean shot at Sam and the sharp flare of dislike Castiel felt through their bond, it was obvious that Dean did not appreciate Sam saying this. Sam seemed to have thought it important, however, and Castiel was glad for the words as he turned an intent stare onto Dean.

“I,” Castiel started, then shook himself slightly. “Thank you for coming for me,” he said, meeting each gaze before him before sharing a lingering look with Dean. He tried to think of a way to thank Dean for his persistence and for not abandoning him but Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably before the ex-angel could find the words to express his gratitude.

“Don’t mention it, Cas,” Dean said gruffly. He then moved to help Bobby clear some books and loose documents out of the area as Sam carefully traced the sigil onto Castiel’s chest, right over his heart.

When they were all ready, Castiel seated himself beside Dean on the couch. Dean grimaced slightly, obviously uncomfortable with the entire situation, then rolled up his sleeve to reveal the handprint there. Castiel gradually brought his hand to fit it perfectly against its replica on Dean’s arm.

The sigil tingled now, reacting to the power of his Grace hidden inside his friend’s scarred shoulder, and Dean gasped as the handprint itself started to warm with the flow of Grace. Castiel focused on the Grace, traced the outline of its light in his mind before he formed a tight grip on it and _pulled_. The sensation was, at first, overwhelming and the breath was knocked from Castiel’s lungs as the feeling of holy righteousness sank through him. It was the feeling of might that he had come to associate with his angelic nature, though even this tiny bit of Grace would not fully restore him to his former self.

Castiel felt lost even as he sensed the Grace pushing its way from Dean back home to his chest, rolling through him like a wave of something warm and wholesome like _home_. Castiel felt disjointed, sensed the bond between himself and Dean ease back to its original form as the sharing of his emotions with Dean dimmed. He had the Grace again to sense Dean’s and Sam’s and Bobby’s emotions even without any sort of bond there, but it didn’t seem to help despite the fact that his companions felt nothing but regard and relief at the moment.

Suddenly, every memory from the last several years and far beyond filled Castiel’s vision. He saw time when the concept of it was created. He saw Lucifer, the beautiful Morningstar, turning his back on his brothers and their Father. He heard Lucifer’s words pour over the light of Heaven, “When I come back, I will be a better Father than you ever were.”

He saw a park bench like a confessional between himself and his charge. “Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul? I am not a...hammer, as you say. I have doubts...”

He saw Zachariah peering down on him in disgust, commanding in a growl, “You will serve no man. You are an instrument of Heaven, an agent of Fate. You answer to _Heaven_ , not to Dean Winchester. There is no room for doubt. You will obey, or suffer.”

He saw the Apocalypse and he saw its end. He saw the suffering of two boys by two archangels as he lifted them to safety. He saw his realization several months later that he had been mistaken about bringing Sam back in one piece. He saw Adam letting go of his ties to Earth and choosing the sanctuary Heaven offered.

He saw Balthazar scoffing at his dream to end the war. “It will never stop!”

He saw Rachel asking, “Is it true?”

He saw Dean demanding answers. “You got to look at me man, look me in the eye and _tell me_ you aren’t working with Crowley!”

He saw every decision he made that has led him here, and he heard himself saying, “I am so sorry.”

Castiel looked up, met Dean’s eyes as the last bit of Grace was transferred from hunter to former-angel. Castiel saw that every emotion he was feeling had been echoed back to Dean, saw it in the way Dean’s face pinched as though he could cry. Castiel drowned in guilt and pain and doubt, and he rose suddenly from the couch and turned away as his eyes burned with a new feeling he suddenly knew as embarrassment. Surprised, Dean and the others exchanged a glance and the elder Winchester asked, “Cas?”

Castiel’s throat clicked as he swallowed. Heat stabbed at his eyes, and he could barely get the words out when he choked out, “It is done.”

Behind him, Dean recognized the hoarse quality to Castiel’s voice and he could sympathize with the feeling. He knew what it was like to struggle to maintain his composure while fighting back the urge to cry, and he knew what triggered this in his friend. He rose and carefully walked up to Castiel. Despite his discomfort doing so, he placed a firm hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Hey—Cas, it’s okay, man,” he said, aware that Sam and Bobby were watching.

Castiel reluctantly turned and met Dean’s gaze, and Dean was shocked when he saw the ex-angel’s eyes were red-rimmed and bright blue. He never saw Cas cry, never even thought his friend was even capable of it until now. But Castiel was human now and he came a long way from the seemingly-emotionless angel who first walked into that barn in Pontiac so yeah, Castiel was capable of crying now.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't," Castiel stammered, and then he made a soft choking sound. It was so foreign to Castiel that it surprised him when he realized it was a sob. Then it happened a second time. Dean grabbed Castiel by both shoulders, and the ex-angel let go. He sobbed helplessly, knees suddenly too weak to hold him up as he collapsed. Dean stumbled as he caught his friend and helped to lower him to the floor. Bobby and Sam were still nearby, gazes soft with empathy before Bobby touched Sam's shoulder and tilted his head to gesture that they give Castiel some privacy. With a nod of agreement, Sam followed Bobby out. Dean continued to rub Castiel's back and shoulders, trying to be compassionate despite his discomfort with the situation. He was familiar with this routine, acting out the part of the comforter just as he had done with Sam after Jessica's death. He knew that Castiel had a lot to cry about and he was a few years overdue, and Dean wouldn't hold this against him.

"Dean, I—" Castiel sobbed, and Dean's heart throbbed with each sob that shook his friend's frame.

"Y'know, my dad used to tell us that real men don't cry," Dean said thoughtfully, and Castiel tensed as he listened. Dean continued to comfortingly rub Castiel's shoulder as he went on, "Gotta say, though. After forty years in Hell, I think my dad never realized how unhealthy that can be." Castiel shifted, realizing that though he was embarrassed, he was also safe with Dean. He could trust Dean not to condemn him for this vulnerability. "It's all right, Cas. You've had a crappy coupla years."

The tears flowed more easily now and Castiel sobbed freely, giving in and letting himself get lost inside the emotional release his body ached for. He surrendered everything that he had let build up for so long. His guilt...his pain...his regrets. And Castiel put his complete trust in Dean at that moment, and was determined not to let that trust ever waver again.

And Dean knew that if their friendship could survive the crapstorm they'd lived through so far, then it was safe to say they could beat pretty much anything else that came at them.

 

* * *

 

It had been three days since the Grace transfer, and except for the occasional concerned and sympathetic glances he received from Bobby or Sam, no one mentioned anything about Castiel’s breakdown. It seemed to Castiel that it was one of those things that they weren’t supposed to bring up, and he was satisfied with that. He was also completely healed now, with help from the last bit of Grace he had pulled back from Dean. Castiel was in the guest room, fresh from the shower. He thought about the difficulty he had dressing at the hospital after he’d turned human the first time. He remembered how he had tied his tie backwards and how he had wished to ask Dean to help him put it to rights afterward.

Castiel was more well-practiced at dressing now, and he chuckled as he realized he was having the same issue as he did in the hospital. The white button-down and black slacks Bobby had purchased for him a few days ago were very similar to his former ensemble, and he liked these clothes. They were comfortable and familiar. He wasn’t sure why Bobby had purchased them, but he suspected there may be some sentimental reason behind it.

It was the tie that he was still struggling with, and he fiddled with it now, frowning at the mirror as he tried to remember how to knot it.

“Guess you need to learn a thing or two about variety.”

Castiel started, and turned to find Dean leaning in the doorway. He blinked at the hunter. “Variety?” he echoed.

Dean smiled, “Yeah, Cas, _variety_. Now that you’re human, it’s okay to try something new in the clothing department. Y’know, less Holy Tax Accountant and more Grunge Rocker.” At Castiel’s confused frown, Dean smirked and suggested, “You could borrow some of my old clothes, if you like. Just until you’re feeling a little more adventurous.”

Castiel pondered Dean for a moment. “Perhaps I will. However, I would like to keep these clothes for now.”

Dean shook his head fondly. “Whatever, man.” He glanced at the trench coat. “So Sam and Bobby may have found us a lead. Looks like demonic activity down south. They think we might be able to get a location on Crowley. I know it’s a little soon, but if you’re up to it...we were wondering if you wanted to tag along.”

“I would like that,” Castiel agreed. He was beginning to learn that there were little ways Dean showed acceptance and camaraderie in their familial unit—and requests that Castiel help them work a job, not as an angel but as a human, were very important.

Dean grinned. “Good.” He saw Castiel struggling with his tie, and with a slight sigh he moved to assist Castiel with the cumbersome silk. He straightened it against Castiel’s collar and tightened the knot at Castiel’s neck. When he finished, Castiel glanced down at the tie and nodded his gratitude at Dean. He looked back into the mirror, and frowned. Something was missing.

After a moment, Dean picked up on Castiel’s unease. He reached behind him, and snatched up the trench coat. “Here,” he said, handing the trench coat to his friend. “I think you’re missing this.”

Castiel took the coat with another grateful nod, and pulled it on. The lapels were skewed and the coat settled rumpled on Castiel’s shoulders. With another sigh, Dean reached to straighten the ex-angel out, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders and straightening the lapels. It was a little awkward, but Dean was getting used to feeling a little awkward these days.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled slightly.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Dean replied.

Castiel relaxed at the sight of his reflection, feeling more comfortable now. He thought about the being he had once been, fresh in a vessel after two thousand years and completely oblivious to the many facets of humanity. He had grown a lot since then. Castiel had seen many changes, had experienced doubt and gained humanity, all under the weight of this trench coat. He was now more human than he had ever been, and he couldn’t say he regretted any of it.

Dean considered him for a long beat. “I was kind of worried you were done with this old thing,” he said quietly. “I would’ve missed the Columbo get-up. Gotta admit, it’s good to see you donning the armor again.”

Castiel stared at Dean a moment, head tilted to one side in confusion, Then, his expression cleared as he realized his _armor_ would now be used in the defense of his human family and the exploration of his human life. He smiled. “I believe I have a new reason to be.”


End file.
